The Way It Has to Be
by daryl-dixon's-poncho
Summary: "I think you two aren't talking 'cause of Merle. 'Cause he doesn't want you to be friends with anybody but him." Carl explained. Daryl couldn't decide if he found what Carl had told him to be ridiculous and far-fetched or scarily accurate. "And Beth…she thinks it's 'cause you two are in love."
1. Words Mean Nothing

It was quiet inside the prison that morning. Not in a peaceful way, either. It was unnervingly, annoyingly silent. The kind of silence that preludes jump scares in horror movies. Judith had finally fallen asleep after an age of screaming and tears that seemingly nothing could appease, leaving an eerie silence clinging to the air. Tension had settled deep into everyone's bones, and they all sat around like rubber bands poised to snap. The exception was Axel, who bounced around whistling some unrecognizable tune with shaky, uneven breaths. It seemed the thought of the danger that Rick and the rest of their group could have faced—could be facing at that moment—either didn't faze him or it hadn't even crossed his mind. He was oblivious like that.

Carol sat at the perch—_Daryl's_ perch—and observed the vistas below. The weather had been moody lately—almost bipolar—and, whereas the previous day it had been sunny and clear, the sky was grey and dreary. Several bulky thunderheads, almost charcoal in colour, rolled their way above the horizon, far over the bushy treetops. Carol eyes followed the high metal fence and its silver loops. She knew it was a lot sturdier than it looked, but she couldn't help but feel uneasy as she watched several walkers trying to fight their way past the barrier by leaning, hanging and tugging at the wiring. Carol fought between watching them closely and averting her gaze entirely. Eventually she resolved to focus on something else. She was already worried enough.

She was surveying the horizon when she first noticed it. Something fairly large travelling at a hasty speed was headed straight for the prison. Carol snapped to attention, jumping to her feet and straining to get a better look. It was a light green hunk of machinery that was very obviously a car. And as it rumbled closer and closer, gravel and broken pebbles crunched under its wheels and sent sputtering in every direction, Carol realized it wasn't _a _car—it was _their _car.

"They're back!" she cried, her pale pink lips spreading into a teeth-baring smile.

Carol had spoken the two words that everybody had been waiting in agony to hear. She watched the car only long enough to see a side door pop open and Maggie climb out—to open the gate, most likely, since nobody was on watch—before she bolted towards the back door of the prison. It was a matter of seconds before Carl and Beth were at her heels rejoicing and Hershel hobbling a bit behind, trying to keep up with the able-bodied youngsters on his crutches.

They flung the door open and filtered sunlight poured in, despite the fact that the sun itself was hiding its face. It made them realize how dark the prison truly was. How they'd practically been living in the shadows for the past week. By the time they'd all squeezed through the narrow doorway, the car was already parked in front of the entrance and the passengers were spilling out. Carl yelled his father's name, rushing towards him and embracing him. Carol followed, sandwiching the boy in between their grimily-clothed bodies as tears prickled her eyes. She said nothing. Actions spoke louder than words.

Then she turned to face Maggie, who was wrapped tight in her little sister's arms. Beth was bawling and telling Maggie how much she'd missed her and how worried she'd been. When Maggie finally managed to worm her way out of Beth's strangling grip, she threw her arms around her father, Hershel. It was an awkward hug, since Hershel had to keep his fingers firmly clutched to the handles of his crutches, but it was sweet nonetheless. They were reunited, and the greatest feeling in the world is to hold your loved ones close because you know they're safe. But as the blissful chaos died down, Carol noticed that there were only four people standing before them. They were missing two people. Oscar, one of the prisoners who, along with Axel, had joined their group the fateful day the herd invaded, was nowhere to be seen. And although he'd done alright by Carol, they'd barely exchanged nods. She hadn't been close enough to him to truly feel the sting of his loss. But there was still another person that was missing: Daryl. He was gone.

"D-Daryl? Where…where is he?" Carol stuttered, trying to make sense of the scene before her. Rick was safe. Glenn was safe. Maggie was safe. That strange girl Michonne was safe. But Oscar wasn't there, and neither was Daryl. Her stomach twisted, her knees went soft and wobbly, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. They were dead._ He_ was dead. Daryl Dixon was dead. Or he would be soon. Joy turned to sorrow. Sorrow turned to anguish. Rick approached her. His eyes said it all. He rested his hand on her shoulder as she covered his mouth. Tears tumbled down her cheeks, dropping to her feet. The trails cleansed her face of dirt, leaving wet paths. They burned. Rick hung his head.

"Carol…" Rick began, and for a man that always knew what to say, he had been caught in a rare moment when no words would come to him. Daryl had been like a brother to Rick: the kind of brother that was also your best friend. The kind of brother that would stand up for you in the schoolyard even if the bully towered a good head above him, and wouldn't even regret it a bit when he got punched square in the jaw. Rick pulled Carol in closely.

"I _will_ find him. I'll get him back." he told her very surely, very slowly, very softly. "Don't you think for a minute I won't. But as for the moment, it's too dangerous. They're expecting us, and if we leave, we might not come back. Now Daryl…he's with his brother. And Merle might be an asshole to everyone else, but he won't let anything happen to Daryl. He's gonna be just fine."

But Rick's words meant nothing. Carol had learned long ago that words were of little reliance. No matter how many times Daryl told her he'd find Sophia and that she'd be just fine, she still died—not once, but twice. No matter how many Cherokee roses sprouted up, in the end they meant nothing. Rick could tell her a hundred times Daryl would be fine, but that wouldn't change his fate or save his life. It would just mean Carol had more empty hopes to cling to.

The next two days that followed seemed to drip by. They stretched on like eternity for Carol. And when one endures an eternity, they often have time to think. And so Carol thought. She didn't move from her perch. She kept Daryl's poncho resting over her shoulders. She scarcely nibbled at anything Rick brought her. Every night he'd try to get her to sleep. But sleep didn't come easy, for when Carol closed her eyes, her mind painted vivid images of Daryl. Sometimes he was dead. His broken body would be sprawled out onto the Woodbury pavement, a puddle of blood under his head and blank, sightless eyes staring up at the sky. She'd never visited the town, but in her nightmares it was a place of horror and pain.

Other times, he'd be suffering. In Carol's dreams, the Governor was a hulk of a man with cold eyes and a slit for a mouth that was set in stone, forever grimacing. Emotion never flickered across his lips. She'd watch, powerless, as the Governor stabbed and jabbed at the soft skin under Daryl's dirt-lined fingernails. She'd listen to his agonized screams as the Governor demanded information. But Daryl wouldn't succumb to the torture. He was determined. Strong-willed. And he'd do anything to keep his group safe.

But the worst dream happened on the third night. Carol had just drifted off to the steady drizzle of rain pounding against the prison roof. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, like a giant singing a lullaby, gentle despite his size. That night, Carol dreamt of Daryl's return. He showed up at the back door, smiling, and she remembered that distinct feeling of unbridled happiness fluttering in her stomach. She threw her arms around him, and much to her surprise he returned the gesture, despite the fact that everyone knew Daryl _hated_ hugs. And then, when she woke up that morning breathing softly, feeling strangely refreshed, she wondered where Daryl was. Feeding Judith, maybe? No. His poncho was still snug around her shoulders. She was still lying on his blankets, on his perch. He wasn't back. He hadn't hugged her. And that hurt most of all.


	2. What Have You Done?

_Note: for the story's sake, there won't be any of Tyreese and his group. I don't know enough about the characters to write them in properly. Also, I know I talk about eyes way too much. Bear with me. Thanks so much for reading! _

The morning after the dream about Daryl's return was the day the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. The windows fogged up and the droplets on them glittered in the gentle, golden light. As they slid down, they cut little slits in the fog so that Carol could peer out and survey the prison yard. There were still walkers clutching the fence and rattling the metal-four, to be exact. One in particular caught Carol's eye. She looked to be a young woman, with lots of long, red hair. A hunk of flesh was missing from her collarbone to her jaw. It had just been torn away, like taking a bite out of an apple. Her nightgown indicated she'd been sleeping when the outbreak occurred. If Carol squinted, she could make out some sort of pattern meshed into the fabric. Flowers, maybe? She could have been a nice girl. She could have been a wonderful woman. She could have been in love. Or maybe she had kids. And now she was a monster who didn't know friend from food. Carol vowed she would never let herself be reduced to that. If she was ever bitten and amputation was impossible, she'd take a bullet in the head with gratitude.

And just when she considered stomping out into the yard and ramming a knife into their skulls, ending their misery they didn't even know they were in, someone else did it for her. An arrow shot through her right eye. Blood spurted out. She fell into the fence, lifeless. The remaining three turned, very slowly, to face the source of the arrow. Now Carol's attention was really caught. Daryl Dixon used a crossbow. Crossbows use arrows. But Daryl was dead. Daryl Dixon was dead. Or was he?

Another walker went down. The arrow hit him right between the eyes. He fell forward, jamming the arrow deeper into his brain. Carol didn't stand around to be a witness. She had to act. _Someone_ was out there. Whether or not it was Daryl was irrelevant. Someone alive was out there and they would either be a friend or an enemy. Carol hoped for the former.

She heaved the door open. It was muggy out. Two days of rain and sudden heat does that. Carol ran to the fence. The walkers were keeled over. They each had an arrow implanted in their skulls. Whoever had shot them was hanging back, obscured in the shadows cast by the boughs of the trees. Whoever had shot them had very good aim.

"Carol?" Rick shouted suddenly. His voice was cut off my door swinging closed. Carol quickened her pace. She was almost to the fence. She could see a dark figure shifting beneath the canopy of leaves and another one working its way through the maze of tree trunks. They were conversing, two of them if not more following behind, and they both seemed to be grown men. Rick burst through the door, shouting her name. She ignored him. Now she was running as fast as her legs would allow. Her heart was racing. Her hand was at her belt, fingering the hilt of her knife. The blade wasn't very long, and was inferior in every way against a crossbow, but it was better than nothing.

Rick caught up to her, grabbing her arm. She yelped as she was jerked back and raised her hand, swatting at his. Maybe he'd get the memo that she wanted out of his grip. But Carol wasn't any match against Rick, and there was nothing she could but huff as he tried to calm her down. Rick loosened his grasp. He didn't want Carol to feel threatened, but he needed to convey the message that running up to strangers on the blank hope that it would be Daryl was a fantastic way to get killed and the prison seized by attackers.

"We need to be rational," he told her. She tried to turn her head to the woods but he held her by the jaw, just firm enough to keep to her there without hurting her. She'd suffered more pain inflicted by a man in fifteen years of marriage than any woman ever should in her entire lifetime. But Rick cared about Carol, and he couldn't raise Judith without her. So even though Carol's eyes glistened with frustration, he had to keep her safe, even if at that moment she hated him. "We can't run around wavin' our hands at-"

And then he stopped. His eyes lit up. He lifted his head. Whoever had shot the walkers had finally decided to reveal himself, and Rick dropped Carol's arm. His fingers fell from her face. Carol held her breath. A tiny laugh escaped through the crack where Rick's lips failed to meet. They pulled into a subtle smile. And that subtle smile grew until he was beaming. Then Rick took off. Carol hesitated a few seconds to process what had just happened, then turned to follow him. Rick's body blocked her view but when she finally reached the fence she realized the motive behind Rick's urgency.

Daryl was breathing heavily, like he'd been darting around the Georgia wilderness dodging flesh hungry corpses—which, of course, he had been. Daryl wasn't the kind to leap around in triumph, no matter how great the victory and this instance was, for the most part, no exception, but for the fact that a tiny smile played on his lips. It was so subtle it was barely noticeable. But there were other emotions at work in Daryl's mind. He hid them well, but Carol could see right through him. She noticed it immediately when he failed to make eye contact with her. And then he avoided meeting her face, like they were sworn enemies or something. Every time his eyes would drift over, he'd cut his gaze back to Rick, who didn't seem to notice anything peculiar about Daryl's strange body language.

Rick continued to smile at Daryl, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, hands on his hips. Carol didn't smile. She was relieved as hell to see Daryl well and alive—and in directly front of her—but there had to be something else. There _had _to be. His nervous body movement said it all.

"It's good to have you back, brother." Rick told him.

Daryl allowed his smile to widen a tiny bit. "So, you gonna let us in or what?"

And for a moment, it almost eluded Rick. He began advancing towards the gate. And then he stopped, his eyes widening in realization.

"…_we_?" He asked sharply and Daryl stared at the ground once more. He shifted his feet. He reached down and ripped his arrow from one of the walker's heads—the girl with the floral nightgown and damp, red hair. He wiped the tip on his pants.

"What the hell do you mean, '_we_'?" Rick persevered.

And that's when the second figure emerged from the shadows. The one Carol had seen earlier. She recognized him immediately, and unfortunately, so did Rick. Carol sighed as Daryl slowly rested his gaze on her face. "_I'm sorry,_" he seemed to say. Carol shook her head softly. Rick gave Daryl a pleading look that said, "_Please don't make me do this._"

"Well, well, well," said Merle in a voice that was almost singsong. Daryl looked at his feet uneasily as his brother sauntered up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder roughly. "Looks like we meet again, huh?" Daryl twitched and Carol folded her arms. This wasn't the reunion she wanted. She knew Daryl loved his brother, and his brother loved him, but Merle was bad news. He was provocative, volatile and obnoxious. Every wall Daryl had broken down over the past nine months, Merle would build right back up, and Daryl would be powerless.

That's when the others noticed. And unfortunately for everyone, the first one out of that door was Glenn, and the sight of Merle standing there with that smug grin on his face was enough to ignite the temper inside him to a point of rage nobody had ever seen before. He took off immediately. Maggie screamed for him, bolting after him instantly. She reached to grab at his sleeve but he was too fast. Glenn was a little thing, but he could certainly book it when he was determined.

"What the hell is he doing here?!" he demanded, stopping suddenly about ten feet from the fence. Carol stared wide-eyed at him. By the time Maggie caught up with him, Glenn had his gun drawn and aimed right at Merle, who had his hands up in defense—well, so to speak, since he only had _one_.

"Glenn, _don't_." Maggie told him very firmly. She was breathing heavily. Glenn tightened his grip on the gun.

"Maggie, stay out of this." He warned. Maggie backed away slowly. Michonne was behind Maggie with her fingers wrapped around her katana, ready to unsheathe her blade in a moment's notice. She hadn't forgotten what Merle had done to her. She certainly hadn't forgiven him.

Daryl continued to stare at the ground and at the little trail of ants winding through the grass. He hung his head but slowly lifted his eyes alone to gaze at her. Carol shook her head softly and subtly.

_What have you done? _She thought sadly.


	3. The Ones Who Matter

The prison was essentially a large empty space enclosed by thick walls. Little rooms, chokingly small with entrances covered in thick steel bars, carved into the left side of Cell Block that once acted as punishment for convicts now seemed like luxuries. Even the little cell beds with the lumpy, creaky mattresses felt like bliss to the group members' sore backs. Everybody had been sleeping on thin sheets spread over whatever surface was under their feet, be it grass, compacted soil or moldy wood. But with showers scarce and filth abundant, the group quickly accumulated a thick layer of dirt on their skin and clothing and thus the blankets became equally as grimy in a very short amount of time.

Carol had found a big wicker basket in a supply closet—inhabited, of course, by a walker whose existence she ended promptly with a knife to the skull—and decided to do a laundry run. There was a ditch filled with water—stagnant water, but water nonetheless—right outside the fence, and Carol figured she'd provide everyone with good clean clothes and blankets. She began stripping the beds one by one and picking up piles of dirty clothing thrown carelessly to the ground. Cleaning in the middle of the apocalypse might seem silly, but it really comforted her. If she tried really, really hard she _almost_ felt like things were normal_. _

When she'd rummaged through all the occupied cells she headed towards the perch. Daryl was sitting there cross-legged, his poncho tossed in a corner, his eyes fixated on the sturdy stick he was whittling. Making new arrows for his crossbow, Carol figured. "Ain't never hurt anyone to have a few extra," he'd told her once in an almost-grumble.

Daryl didn't look up as Carol collected the few shirts and pairs of pants he'd flung into a nook. She left the poncho alone. She knew he wouldn't like her washing it, because doing so might screw with the fabric. Carol didn't say a word as she left. Daryl felt a pang of guilt. If only he'd just left Merle behind, Carol might not hate him. But he couldn't leave Merle. Merle was his brother! And no matter how much Merle pissed everyone off—Daryl included—he just couldn't bring himself to abandon his own blood so easily.

Speaking of Merle, Carol still had one final stop to make. It was the last cell, closest to the side door, furthest from the perch, as Daryl requested. He was holding a bit of a grudge against Merle at that moment. Not that anyone blamed him.

Carol stood, arms curled over the basket full of laundry, at the locked entrance of Merle's appointed cell. Nobody in the group wanted to bring him in—besides Daryl, of course—but Rick couldn't afford to lose Daryl, so he reluctantly barred Merle into a cell. Merle obviously put up quite a fight: he kicked and yelled curses. At one point he even spat. And then when Rick bolted him up in that cell, he went berserk. His rage echoed off every surface, and if it weren't hectic enough, Judith began to cry after being rudely jostled from her nap.

Eventually Merle shut up, but only when Daryl forced him to. He wasn't happy about his baby brother bossing him around, but he begrudgingly listened. Now he was slumped over against the wall, head leaning to one side, and Carol wondered if he were actually sleeping or just feigning.

"Merle," she whispered harshly, rattling a bit on the bars. He promptly lifted his big head to face her with spite burning in his eyes. He did look a bit like Daryl, but there was some softness missing from his rough face. Merle Dixon was a shadow of the man his brother was.

"I'm doin' a laundry run. You got anything you want me to wash?"

Merle snorted with loathe as if Carol were the most useless person to ever tread planet earth. Carol took that as a 'no' and headed to the ditch with a bottle of soap in her hand. It was electric blue and for dishes. Pickings were slim. But just as Carol thought her encounter with Merle was over, he called her over again. She turned swiftly on her heel.

"Hey peaches," he mocked and Carol remembered when Daryl had sarcastically called her 'peach' that night shortly after they'd found Sophia before completely exploding. He apologized later on, but Carol knew not to take Daryl's little fits personally. Merle glared at her and Carol glared back. "You stay away from my lil' brother, you hear me?"

.:|:.

That evening, Carol was peeling carrots for dinner. Daryl had gone out hunting earlier and he'd brought back two rabbits and a sack of carrots. He claimed he'd found them at some farm that was recently abandoned. The homeowners had been surviving on their own garden before their property was overrun, much the same way the Greene farm had been. Most of the vegetables had been ravaged by wild animals, but the carrots survived. The leafy tops were gnawed to stubs, but otherwise they were perfectly edible. Carol figured she'd make a stew.

Daryl was back to whittling arrows, only this time he was sitting at the table across from her. Neither said a word, but every once a while she could feel his eyes on her. Everyone was tense and silent as they watched the two ignore each other.

"I don't get it." Beth admitted under her breath to Carl, making sure nobody else could hear. "They were _best friends._"

Finally, the stillness was broken when the knife grazed over the soft flesh on Carol's finger. She gasped, dropping the knife and it went clanging onto the table. She sucked the cut digit. It stung a bit, but it wasn't anything horrible. She'd gone through worse.

"You okay?" Daryl asked, standing up abruptly. Carol turned away, whipping her hand back and forth rapidly to air it out. A steady stream of crimson blood flowed down her wrist. Carol grabbed a random piece of off-white cloth and wrapped it around the cut.

"Lemme see," Daryl insisted, but Carol just went back to peeling carrots like nothing ever happened. The rest of the group pretended nothing had happened, too. They didn't want to be a part of it. It wasn't their place.

"I don' believe it. You _ignorin'_ me?"

Carol said nothing in response. Daryl was getting real sick and tired of her taunting. They weren't two five-year-olds playing the "quiet game". They were grown adults, and if they had problems, they needed to work them out, not avoid them like the plague.

The truth was that Carol didn't really know _why _she wasn't speaking to Daryl. She was pissed off at him, yes, but she'd been pissed at plenty of people before. She didn't _shun them_. No, there was something else at play that was bothering Carol a good deal. There was something she needed to figure out concerning Daryl and she needed to figure it out without his influence.

Carol began chopping the carrots into coins and separating the skins into a pile. Daryl's mouth was slightly open as he sat back down, narrowing his eyes at her as he did so. For most of his life, he'd been told by a certain someone—who happened to be quietly chuckling at the other end of the prison, just loud enough so it was audible to the others—that he was disliked and he always would be.

"Mos' people don' like people like us," Merle had told him once when he was a teenager and Daryl was slightly younger. Daryl remembered the way Merle was reclined on his bed, smoking a cigarette and flipping through one of those magazines of his with the naked girls on the cover. "But tha's okay, 'cause all you need is me, lil' brother. Me 'n' you are the only ones tha' matter."

But over the past nine months, Daryl had grown to like his group. And they mattered too. And even though he always tried to tell himself he wouldn't care a bit if they turned their backs on him and left him, he _would _care. And there was something about Carol's refusal to acknowledge him that really struck home. He deeply cared about her. Daryl Dixon didn't know anything about love, but if he did, he might say he loved her. But the definition of 'love' was still unclear to him, and he certainly didn't know how to tell when you're in it. It was one of those little things that puzzled him late at night.

.:|:.

It was a day later and Daryl and Carol still hadn't spoken. He did, however, catch her glancing at him a few times. She would quickly pull her head away, but she was definitely watching him. When he attempted to patch a hole in his poncho, he could have sworn he heard her snicker when he pricked his finger with the needle, and then again when he got the brown thread wrapped around his hand. That made him smile, but only a tiny bit.

That was the day when Merle suckered Rick into 'relocating' him a few cells over.

"Please," he had begged, dropping to his knees and folding his hands as if to pray. He scrunched his eyebrows together, giving Rick his best 'puppy-dog' look. Merle didn't look very sweet or puppy-like but Rick couldn't deny a man his rights to be closer to the one person in the world he truly cared for. So Rick tentatively led Merle to the next empty cell—which just happened to be the one right next to Carol's.

"Why can't he stay next to you?" Carol approached Rick a little later, crossing her arms and trying to reason with him. "That way you can keep a closer eye on him."

Rick sighed. "We can't treat him like an animal, Carol. He's a human being."

"But he's _dangerous _and I don't want him sleeping next to me!" she objected.

"He's locked in there an' I got the key. He's not gonna _bust out_."

"He'll harass me." Carol stated very quietly. Rick shot her another one of his famous pleading looks. Carol shifted her feet, knowing she'd lost the battle. Rick rested a hand on her shoulder like he had a few days before. Then he wandered off, leaving Carol to accept that she'd likely find herself awake in the middle of the night, straining her vision in the darkness only to make out the figure of Merle Dixon watching her closely while she slept. She could almost feel his stare boring holes in her consciousness.

Only then when Carol turned to see Daryl seated on a step finishing up the last arrow for his crossbow did she allow herself to finally make eye contact. He lifted his head. When she didn't sharply turn away, he smiled and raised a hand meekly. It was a tiny, feeble wave. Carol couldn't help but smile back, even though her eyes were filling with tears at what she'd just realized. At Carol's tiny grin, Daryl's smile grew wider, even to the point where a tiny sliver of white teeth were exposed until he finally dropped his head, almost embarrassedly. Even then, the corners his lips subtly remained upturned.

Carol breathed in deeply. It had taken her a long time to become aware of it and even longer to accept it, but she was finally ready to believe it, inconvenient as it was. Yes, the reason she found it so hard to face Daryl Dixon was because she loved him, and she knew with Merle around she would probably never get a chance to let him know.


	4. The Fourth Victory

_First I'd like to state how shocked I am at how great a reception this has gotten so far. The positivity is keeping me very motivated! With the holidays fast impending, I'm not going to be able to write as often or as much. The chapters may get shorter and/or less frequent, but I'm going to try my best to keep everything as regular as possible. Enjoy!_

Life at the prison seemed to be returning to normal. Beth and Carl would play card games with slips of paper they'd drawn on with pen, Judith would scream and cry until someone finally fed her (and then she'd scream and cry some more until she fell asleep), Rick was constantly scrambling around trying to install new safety improvements, Daryl would take his crossbow out into the woods and catch dinner, and Carol would cook whatever Daryl brought back. Hershel rested most of the time, but his medical contributions were irreplaceable. Axel did whatever task Rick appointed to him. Merle drawled on and on about nonsense from his cell until it became nothing more than background noise.

Carol didn't look forward to her visits with him. He didn't like anyone at the prison, but he had some kind of particular abhorrence for Carol. Maybe it was because she was a woman holding authority over him. Maybe it was because he could sense her deep bond with Daryl. Whatever it was, Merle always seemed to have some hateful gleam in his eye when she delivered him his meals. It was almost like he was mocking her. And every time she would collect the cutlery and bowls afterwards, he would make some snide comment about her cooking. She brushed the remarks off easily, though, because he always finished every last bite.

Daryl was still bothered by the fact that Carol wouldn't speak to him. He was starting to worry he'd lost her for good. It was hard to try to accept, since she was right there in his sight. But it seemed she wanted nothing to do with him. He remembered being in the Woodbury arena, his hands bound firmly behind his back, enclosed by fifty people chanting for his death, recalling how he'd told Carol to stay safe and how ironic it was.

He remembered when he'd laid a Cherokee rose on her grave, no body beneath the dirt, reminded of when he went looking for Sophia in the woods and found a cluster of the snow-white flowers growing in a bush. He plucked one from its stem and placed it in a beer bottle, sheepishly gifting it to Carol in the RV. She looked so forlorn, sitting there and gazing out the window, wondering if her baby was starving or cold or terrified or… dead. The sadness was still heavy in her eyes and it would be a long time before it was lifted. He had been so sure he would find Sophia…so sure he'd pick up a fresh trail and follow it, only to find her hiding in the foliage, traumatized but alive, and he'd carry her back to her mama. But it never happened like that. And then Carol was missing too and he wondered why would the outcome be any different?

But he found her. He did. Against all odds, she was there, in the closet, drained completely of strength but still clinging to awareness. She was a fighter and she always had been. Hell, she'd been fighting to survive long before the apocalypse ever happened. After an abusive marriage that seemed more like a fifteen-year-long battle, putting a pickaxe through Ed's skull was her first victory. Not letting life's cruel games defeat her was the next. And struggling through cramped hallways reeking of rotten flesh and crawling with walkers armed with nothing but a little knife was her latest. But forgiving Daryl for bringing his foul-mouthed, vile-tempered brother back from Woodbury was proving to be one obstacle Carol Peletier couldn't trounce. At least, that's what Daryl thought.

It was a sunny day after a bout of grumbling skies and pouring rain, so Daryl figured he'd take Carl out and show him the basics of using a crossbow. He wasn't nearly old or strong enough, but he was really interested in it and Daryl figured it wouldn't hurt to spend a bit of time with the kid. His dad hadn't been doing so hot since Lori's death and the only person Carl really got to hang out with was Beth. Daryl figured the little squirt would appreciate the company of another guy instead of a hormone-ridden teenage girl.

"You see, kid, you gotta pull this string up an' lock it in place,"

Carl watched as Daryl demonstrated. Cicadas were buzzing in the treetops and little beads of sweat were forming on both of their temples. Carl could feel his insides slowly roasting. Daryl was used to ignoring the heat, but he couldn't ignore the lingering tension. Carl was completely silent as Daryl picked up one of the bolts and seated it.

"You listenin', kid, or am I jus' entertainin' myself?"

Carl shifted, peering up at Daryl from behind the wide brim of his daddy's hat.

"Why aren't you talkin' to Carol?" he asked.

Daryl stared at Carl, not knowing how to respond.

"_She_ won' talk to _me_. Not the other way 'round." Daryl explained at last before going on about crossbow safety. But Carl wasn't so interested in learning about crossbows anymore. He was far more curious about other things. He pretended to pay attention before presenting Daryl with another inquiry.

"Is it 'cause of Merle?"

Daryl sighed, remembering why he normally kept his distance from children. Carl was truly like a little brother to Daryl, and he certainly didn't lack in annoyingness.

"Hey, why don' you go pester someone else? I got things to do."

Daryl promptly stood up, trying to convey the message that crossbow lessons were over. But Carl persisted, following him around like a shadow.

"'Cause Beth and I kind of have a bet goin' on, and I think I'm gonna win."

"Yeah, an' what bet would that be?"

Daryl plopped down on the ground, pulling the red rag out of his pocket and wiping his face with it. Carl sat down next to him. They watched a few walkers ambling around beyond the fence.

"I think you two aren't talking 'cause of Merle. 'Cause he doesn't want you to be friends with anybody but him." Carl explained. Daryl couldn't decide if he found what Carl had told him to be ridiculous and far-fetched or scarily accurate. "And Beth…she thinks it's 'cause you two are in love."

Daryl stared, stunned, at Carl, who didn't seem to notice. He was using a stick to draw lines in the sandy gravel. He seemed oblivious to what he'd just said. No, not oblivious—_casual_. Like the thought of Carol and Daryl being in love with each other was no big deal. Like _love_ was no big deal.

"Yeah? An' how does she figure that?"

Carl kept his eyes on the swirls he was tracing. "'Cause when people are in love, they act funny around each other. That's what Beth says, anyway."

Daryl stood up promptly. Carl jumped up with him, but decided not to follow him. Instead he stood there and watched as Daryl stomped off as if he had very important things to tend to.

"Where are you going?" Carl called, craning his neck and standing on his toes to see if anyone was waiting for Daryl at the side door of the prison. Maybe someone had yelled for him. But as far as Carl could see, that wasn't the case. He wondered if it was something he said. Maybe Daryl didn't like talking about love.

"I dunno know." Daryl replied over his shoulder. But it was a lie. Daryl knew exactly where he was going.

.:|:.

Carol hummed softly to herself as she sorted through the contents of the supply closet. She'd forgotten the name of the song and the lyrics too but remembered the melody. Carol couldn't believe how many pairs of blue jumpsuits could fit in such a small space. She removed them, placing them in a pile by the door. They were in desperate need of new clothing, but she didn't plan on using them for that. They already felt enough like inmates without wearing the garments too. But she could still repurpose them. She had needles, thread, and a pair of rusty fabric scissors. Maybe she could cut them into squares and fashion a blanket.

Carol was so entangled in her own thoughts that she didn't even hear Daryl's footfalls or notice when they stopped. She had no idea he was even inside the prison until she closed the closet door and jumped when she discovered him standing there, arms crossed, looking very demanding. She gasped, surprised, and clutched her chest in relief.

"I didn't see you there." She remarked softly as she bent to grab a handful of jumpsuits.

"You speakin' to me again, or are you jus' teasin'?"

Daryl's tone of voice took Carol by surprise. Over the past seven months, he'd been so gentle with her. Even the way he spoke to her was tender and caring. But for the first time in a long while, his tone of voice towards her was harsh and patronizing. Carol knew him well enough to know that that meant he was hurt. Carol also knew she'd helped inflict that hurt. But what could she do? She wasn't ignoring him to _hurt_ him. She was doing it to _protect_ him.

"This got somethin' to do with Merle?" Daryl asked sharply. Carol's eyes moved up his body and then over at Merle's cell. She decided it was far enough away to where she could temporarily drop her guard.

"I realized somethin', Daryl, and I want to tell you, believe me I do, but Merle's watchin' me. He's _always_ watchin' me. And I know if he finds out, he'll give you hell." She explained, wavering on many words, struggling to piece together a coherent sentence. Daryl's eyes softened a bit and he unfolded his arms, dipping his hands into his pockets.

"Well, Merle ain't gonna find out, now is he?" Daryl said. His voice had warmed a good deal, but when Carol still looked unsure, Daryl found himself becoming anxious. He rocked on his heels.

"Come on, Carol! I…I thought we were friends!"

Daryl's words panged Carol's heart. He sounded so upset. In fact, Carol wasn't sure she'd ever seen Daryl Dixon so distressed. Maybe back at the rock quarry after Rick cuffed Merle to the rooftop in Atlanta and they returned without him, when he was constantly storming around with mist in his eyes and a huff in his breath. The fact that she was the only other person that could draw out Daryl Dixon's true emotions made her feel incredibly guilty and sadistically satisfied because it meant he cared about her more than she ever thought.

"Maybe that's a part of it, Daryl—what if I don't want to be 'just friends'?! What if…what if…" Carol felt more tears spring to her eyes, partly out of frustration at herself for not being able to squeeze out three little words. But she would not grant those tears release. "What if…what if I love you?"

Daryl's breath caught in his throat as Carol stared at him. Her eyes reminded him of the ocean: wide, deep, glossy and blue. He didn't know what to say. His mouth just kind of hung open, his lips quivering but no sound coming out. Carol gathered more jumpsuits. With a mountain of fraying fabric in her arms, she turned to leave.

"Wait! Carol!" he stuttered, and to his surprise Carol didn't hesitate a bit before she spun to face him. She walked back towards him, a proud sway in the way she held her hips. "I-" was the only thing he had time to say before she silenced him with a small, gentle kiss. This time, he didn't even flinch. And that was Carol's fourth victory.


	5. Unchain My Heart

_It has come to my attention that I wrote "I dunno know" in the last chapter instead of just "I dunno." It's just a stupid mistake on my part. Ignore it and enjoy! This chapter is a glimpse inside Daryl's mind, and it was a lot of fun to write! _

Daryl scarcely had a moment to process what was going on—let alone enjoy it—before Carol pulled away. The light spilling in through the cracked door was musty and dim and only fell on a quarter of her face, but he could still make out the rosy hue breaking through the surface of the peachy skin over her cheekbones. He could feel his cheeks heating, too, and for several moments they just stood, neither saying a word. Words meant nothing.

At first they were so close he could feel her deep breaths on his neck. Then she pressed her feet flat on the ground, whereas before she had been balancing on her toes, shrinking as she leaned away. The distance between them continued to gradually grow until Judith's cries began to echo off every wall and bounce around the prison. Rick called for Carol's assistance. He hadn't mastered his baby-soothing technique yet. Carol pushed the prison jumpsuits onto a rickety shelf, planning to return for them later, and left to aid Rick. Still, she didn't tear her eyes from Daryl until the last moment.

Most of the time, darkness meant danger to Daryl. It meant he was blind. It was why he never went hunting after sundown. If he intersected a herd, he'd have no way of knowing where the walkers were or how many of them he was facing or how far he was from the prison. And dying alone in agony with night's hands clasped firmly over his eyes was Daryl's worst fear. But as he stood, dumfounded, wrapped in shadows, he felt oddly comforted by the silky blackness. It meant nobody could see him and the look of total confusion he no doubt had on his face.

Daryl's mind was still bending, trying to comprehend. There was something in his chest tugging at the strings of his heart. He could feel each one as it was yanked. A new pang of emotion would wash through his body each time.

_I _kissed_ her! _He thought frantically. But the voice of his mind spoke unsurely, as if it were not so much a statement as it was a question.

_No. _He mentally corrected himself. She _kissed _me.

Little droplets of sweat budded at his temple and expanded. He pulled at the roots of his hair.

_Fuck._

How could he let this happen? The entire group counted on him to keep them safe. To keep them fed. How was he supposed to do that if Carol was distracting him all day long? He tried so hard to keep her off his mind. After all, if he started thinking about her he'd never stop. He'd learnt that lesson the hard way.

_It was their first night in the prison. Nobody slept well. Every cough and creak was amplified tenfold. Daryl was wide awake. He tried to doze off, he did, but all he did was toss and turn and find himself tangled and sweaty in his sheets. So he sat upright on the perch, trying to make out the shapes stumbling around in the prison yard, shifting in and out of the moonbeams. His attention fell upon the overturned bus. The jagged glass fringing the busted window frames glistened; the sleek metal shone. Just a day earlier he had stood atop that bus with Carol. They watched the others who were huddled around the crackling fire, faces and hair illuminated bright gold. There was still a nip in the air and Daryl had his poncho on. He was eating roasted owl. Carol was watching with a smile._

_And then she complained about her damn shoulder hurting. He didn't even think twice about offering to rub it for her. And so he did. He remembered how he could feel the tight, sore knot beneath her skin. Then she started giggling and teasing him so he retreated back into shyness. _

_And then there he was, a night later, thinking about it for the millionth time. Only this time the thought didn't pass quickly. The image of her face stayed firmly in his mind. Before he knew it, he'd traced his memories of her back to the day Sophia went missing. _

_Gazing idly out the window, he was too lost in his own thoughts to notice the tear that slipped past his eyelids. It was one that got away out of many still waiting to escape. But Daryl had sworn he would never cry. Crying is weakness. Tears solve nothing. Tears can't cure world hunger. Tears can't mend broken friendships. Tears can't restore stolen lives. _

_When Daryl became aware of that stray tear slipping down his cheek, he found himself incensed. He brushed it away roughly. He blinked wildly. He balled up his fists. He dug his nails into his callused fingertips. His top tooth sunk into his bottom lip. He bit down hard. He tasted metallic blood on his tongue. It was a single salty teardrop, but it bothered him to no end. _

He pondered in the silent, soft darkness of the supply closet. He knew he couldn't hide in there forever, but he wasn't quite ready to face Carol again. He needed some more time to think. He needed some more time.

One thing he knew for sure was that he hated how she had such authority over his emotions. He hated how she could make him laugh with the stupidest joke. He hated how he took every compliment she gave him to heart. He hated how she could leave him staggering in some supply closet with a tiny kiss and three words working together as a spell.

Then another memory was recalled, still sharp and vivid in his mind's eye:

_Daryl was young—five, six, seven at the very oldest. He'd just lost his top tooth. He prodded the spongy gap with his tongue as he sat, dazed, in front of the TV. Mama was washing dishes in the kitchen. He remembered hearing the clattering of plates and the drizzle of water. Merle was somewhere else. He didn't know where Daddy was. Maybe he'd blotted that part out to make the memory fonder._

_The name of the show he was watching was a detail long departed. All he could remember was a teenage girl and her younger brother in a large, dimly lit living room. The teenage girl painted her toenails some sickly shade of pink. The little boy rolled his cars along the wooden floor. _

"_What's it feel like to be in love, Jenna?" he asked her without lifting his gaze from his cars. The teenage girl dabbed more polish on her toenails. _

"_I dunno," she answered, before expanding monotonously. "I guess it feels like you're trapped and can't escape. Like someone's wrapped your heart up in chains and they won't unchain it no matter how much you beg. But really, you don't want them to." _

Daryl snapped to attention when he heard his name being yelled out repeatedly. Not knowing what to do, he cracked the door open and peered out. When he saw nobody was coming, he slid through, continuing down the hall towards the source of the calling. It seemed to be getting closer. Daryl tried to look less flustered as Rick approached.

"Daryl! Where you been?" he asked. Carl was at his side. The kid was clutching his gun far too eagerly.

"Wha'? I ain't been nowhere, jus'-"

"Merle's been askin' for you. I'm takin' Carl into another cell block. I wanna see if there's anything worth grabbing. Go see what he wants; jus' don't let him out."

Daryl nodded, swallowing hardly as Rick slapped him on the shoulder before passing him by. Daryl's pace slowed as he entered Cell Block C. Carol was standing there, her back against the wall, a tiny smile playing on her lips as she watched Beth coo to Judith. Her eyes met Daryl's, and for a few moments their gazes were united before she coaxed Beth out of the prison to leave Merle and Daryl alone.

"Come on. Some fresh air'll do her good."

Daryl's eyes lingered on her until even after the door closed. Maggie and Glenn were in the watch tower (although he doubted any watching was getting done) and Hershel was in the room where they ate their meals, sitting at a table, working at a slip of paper with a graphite pencil he'd found on the floor.

"Been here almos' a week an' you haven't barely said a word t' me. Ain't no way to treat your Ole Merle."

Daryl peered at his big brother through thick metal bars. He was perched on his bed, fiddling with a long piece of metal he'd smuggled in at some point. The knife he used for his arm attachment had been taken when they were in the screamer pits. The gap in the leather seemed to have left a gap in his heart, too.

Annoyance flashed across Merle's face when his brother remained silent. Picking on Daryl was a skill that had taken a lifetime to hone and ten months to dull.

"You wanna tell me wha' this is all about?" he asked, but not in the normal, comforting big-brotherly fashion. Daryl knew whatever he said would be taken, mangled, spat out and used against him. So Daryl kept his jaw firm and his stare firmer.

"This ain't about that woman, is it?"

Daryl tried his best, but he couldn't keep his eyes from glancing down briefly. He brought them back up quickly, but Merle was faster. Nothing slipped by Merle. He let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

"Yeah, I figured as much."

Merle reclined, kicking his shoes off and flinging them across the cell. That clanged against the metal bars. When he saw no reaction flash across his little brother's face, he tried to penetrate Daryl's mind. Tried to figure out what would make him flinch. But he couldn't read him. Not anymore. He was a different person. Merle had worked so hard to carve Daryl into a real man. Now he might as well have been gossiping with the women.

"I got a lil' bit o' advice for you, though."

Merle scooted towards where Daryl was positioned. He leaned in as close as he could so that if anything he said had any bit of impact, he would be able to see it manifest in his brother's expression. Daryl's face was thinner than the last time they were together. His hair was longer. His eyes were drilling but softened somehow. Merle played his cards wisely.

"That woman…she's weak. An' she's old. An' she'll die sooner rather than later. She ain't worth your love, lil' brotha. Ain't nobody worth your love but me."

When Merle failed to draw a reaction from Daryl, he went ballistic, his voice full of unbridled rage.

"You listen t' me, lil' brotha, an' you listen good! I don' wanna see you near 'er. I don't wanna see you talk to 'er. I don' wanna see you touchin' 'er, an' I sure as hell don' wanna hear 'bout you two doin' shit 'hind my back!"

Daryl jumped away, his breath shaking. He was seething, but he wouldn't let his anger be released. Instead he stormed off. He needed a drink of water. Merle snickered to himself, proud to have found his brother's weak spot at least. He'd had his baby brother on a harness for his entire life. He was glad to have his hands wrapped around the leash once more.


	6. Merle is Watching

Carol measured the instructed amount of baby powder in tea spoons and filled the bottle three-thirds of the way with water. Screwing the lid on, she shook the bottle back and forth for twenty seconds. Ideally, the formula should have been warm, but there was no electricity. Luckily, Judith didn't seem to mind. She drank greedily in the crook of Carol's arm, her sweet lips puckering with every sip. She held her chubby little hands high, brushing her tiny digits against Carol's chin, who smiled at the baby's gentle touch. Beth watched over her shoulder, beaming. They were in the "dining room", and Hershel's pencil was still lying on the table. He'd left to take a nap and took his sketch with him.

Suddenly the door behind them burst open with such ferocity Beth jumped out of her skin. Carol whirled around only to see Daryl stomping across the room towards the stash of water bottles. He grabbed one, ripped off the plastic lid, and guzzled half the bottle.

Carol and Beth were looking on wide-eyed, and when he was finished he kept glancing at Beth and then back at Carol, holding his gaze on her a few seconds longer. He needed to talk to Carol alone. He hoped she'd get the message. Fortunately, she did, and she quickly transferred Judith and the bottle to Beth.

"Why don't you go feed her some more outside, hmm? I'll be right out."

Beth nodded. She took Judith and pushed the door open with her back. A ray of sunlight cut through the dimness, exposing the dust particles fluttering through the air. When the door closed, the two were left in the typical murky half-light.

Carol turned back to Daryl, who was clenching his fists. A fire had ignited in his eyes. His jaw was clenched. She kept her distance as she tried to console him.

"Whatever he said to you doesn't matter. We all love you an' need you an'-"

"'s not that!" he snapped, lunging a step forward. Carol jumped a step back. "'s somethin' else…"

He began pacing, eyeing the door leading to Cell Block C as if he were waiting for someone to splinter it open. In a split second, without even thinking, he pulled his arm back and rammed his fist into the rock-hard wall. Carol gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth as Daryl winced in agony. She rushed over, grabbing his forearm to examine the damage. It didn't look like he'd broken anything, but his knuckles were already turning purple. He ripped his hand away.

"Listen t' me: Merle's watchin'. An' he's listenin'. An' he ain't gonna be happy if he sees me hangin' 'round you. So you gotta make me a promise: you gotta promise me you gonna stay the hell away when he's around."

Carol stared, astounded, at Daryl. Her mouth hung open and her arms were folded. She couldn't bring herself to agree.

"This is ridiculous," she said at last, dropping her arms to her sides, shaking her head. "You can't let him bully you. He's jus' gonna have to accept-"

"You don' get it, do you? If he thinks I'm betrayin' him by replacin' him-"

"Jus' stop, Daryl, you're not makin' any sense. Merle is locked up. He can't get out. He can't hurt us."

"Yeah, he's only locked up 'till he ain't. You don' know what he's capable of, Carol!" he yelled. There was a moment of silence as he caught his breath and tried to calm himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, making it even messier. Then he grabbed Carol by her shoulders and pulled her close. He stared directly into her eyes and spoke in a hushed tone. "I swore to keep you safe, an' tha's jus' what I'm gonna do. I ain't askin' much. I'm jus' askin' please."

He released her and backed away. She was visibly unhappy as she soundlessly nodded in agreement. He smiled weakly, trying to find something to say to lift her spirits. But there was nothing. The situation was dreadful no matter how he looked at it.

Daryl patted Carol's shoulder, but it was so gentle he wondered if she'd even noticed. He wished he were more comfortable around her, but it was hard when he was constantly afraid of hurting her. She was small and fragile and still recollecting the shards of her heart. It seemed every time she put another piece back in place, another one was chipped away.

"I'm gonna go now," he grumbled as he turned to leave. He grabbed the handle of the door and turned back to face her. There was defeat in her eyes. "Better go the other way." He nodded towards the door Beth had used to exit with Judith. He shuddered at the thought of her stomping into the cell block and announcing to Rick out loud that Daryl and Carol were talking alone in the other room.

Daryl planned to run off to some uncharted part of the prison and cut down as many walkers as possible. Not only would it help blow off some steam, but he may be able to find an isolated space where he and Carol could meet up each day and be safe from his brother's probing eyes. But just as he was about to leave, Carol spoke up. Her voice had brightened and he could almost _hear_ her mischievous smile.

"Aren't you gonna kiss me goodbye?"

Daryl paused, both hands pressing lightly on the door. He hesitated before answering over his shoulder.

"Naw. Ain't no good at that."

Then he left, without a single idea of the next time they'd be able to talk openly.

.:|:.

Carol hadn't seen Daryl since the ordeal in the dining room. He wasn't out hunting because his crossbow was still on his perch, leaning against the wall. Therefore, they had no fresh meat to cook and Carol was forced to dig into their emergency stash. But bags of beef jerky and jars of peanut butter weren't exactly adequate ingredients for a meal, so she and Beth were scratching their heads over what to cook for dinner.

"Do we have any oatmeal left?" Carol asked. Beth rummaged around the other sack frantically.

"Not much."

Beth passed Carol the cardboard box. A white-haired man in a black hat smiled at them, but most of the image had been rubbed away and there was a hole in his face. Carol shook the box. There would be enough if she forfeited her own portion.

"Anythin' else?" she asked.

"Umm…" Beth rummaged around some more. "…twinkies?"

Carol couldn't help but laugh as she held out her hand. Beth confusedly handed her the box of twinkies. There were twelve in a pack and ten mouths to feed.

"What's so funny?"

Carol noticed the seal had already been ripped open. She dumped the twinkies out and did a recount. There were eleven cakes and twelve wrappers. The first suspect that came to mind was Carl.

"Nothin'. Jus' never thought I'd see these again, that's all." Carol smiled. Then she grabbed one and ripped the wrapper away. She broke the soft cake in two pieces, handing the larger half to Beth. The girl looked unsure at first, but she took it anyway. The two indulged, giggling with joy at the taste of sugar.

"This'll do for tonight, but tomorrow I'll make a run an' bring back everythin' I can carry. Can't rely on Daryl for everything…"

Then Beth's lips broke into a devious grin. "So you an' Daryl are talkin' again?"

Carol paused, looking over at Merle's cell. He was staring blankly in the other direction. He didn't seem to be listening, though, because he didn't turn his head at the mention of his brother's name. That or he was an expert eavesdropper. Carol didn't want to take a chance.

"We had some things to work out. Everythin's fine." She told the girl as quietly as possible and then gave a shy smirk. Beth returned it, though she seemed unsure.

.:|:.

Daryl turned up in the nick of time for dinner. He was doused in walker blood and a thick layer of dirt was caked onto his clothes and skin. He didn't seem too thrilled to be dining on oatmeal and twinkies, but he ate up anyway. He was starving, after all. Rick had granted Merle permission to join them at meals, and the sulking older brother didn't take his eyes of Daryl the entire time.

"Where've you been?" Rick asked, cradling Judith in one arm and using the other to spoon oatmeal into his mouth.

"Out doin' stuff. Needed a change o' scenery." Daryl replied half-heartedly.

"Why didn't you go huntin'?" was the dreadful but not unexpected follow-up question. Daryl shrugged absently. He could feel Merle's eyes on him but didn't dare look up. He was worried his gaze would naturally shift to Carol.

"I woulda if I'd known how low we was on food. But the prison's big and we ain't barely searched half o' it. Guess I was hopin' for some hidden arsenal."

"Did you find one?" Rick took another bite of oatmeal.

Daryl dropped his spoon into the bowl and slid out of his chair, making for his perch. "Nah."

.:|:.

"Can't sleep?"

Her voice came out of nowhere. Daryl had been deep in a thought, but the suddenness of her inquiry ripped him from distant lands and plunged him back into the icy water of reality. He stared at her, noticing the way the moon bathed her short tufts of hair in velvety silver and highlighted her cheekbones. His immediately glanced over at Merle's cell. Carol noticed.

"Don't worry 'bout him. He's out like a light." She assured.

He relaxed once more, sitting up in his blankets and scooting over to make room for her. She sat down beside him. She wore a white t-shirt and loose gray pants. They were specifically reserved for sleeping. Daryl just slept in whatever clothes were on his back at that moment. He couldn't help but notice Sophia's cloth doll was bunched up in her hands. He knew it had been her security blanket ever since he found it. He remembered when they would set up camp out in the open somewhere during the winter and he'd watch by firelight as her drowsy body rose and fell with her breath and see that raggedy old doll in her arms. He didn't know she still had it.

"Looks like you can't sleep neither." He noted, staring back out the window. She followed his line of sight. He was staring at something beyond the trees.

"Rest doesn't come easy when you're in the cell next to Merle." She muttered.

"Try sharin' a room with 'im." Daryl grumbled. She laughed softly, but her mirth turned to concern.

"I can't stop thinkin' 'bout what you said to me: 'bout Merle bein' dangerous. An' I know you think what you're doin' is for the best, but I don't like this. I think if we put our heads together, we can find some other way to-"

Daryl cut her off abruptly in a harsh whisper. "There ain't no '_other way_', Carol!"

Carol's eyes fell and she started twiddling her thumbs. He immediately felt guilty.

"Look…you think I'm happy 'bout this? I'm not. But if we wanna make this work, we're gonna have t' do this."

She looked up and the sadness reflected in her eyes yanked at his heart.

"I'm jus' scared I'm never gonna get t' see you." She murmured in a shaky whisper. Then she rested her head on his shoulder, her breath tickling the crook of his neck. At first, he didn't know what to do. But then he timidly wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

"I'm here now, ain't I?"

He felt her nod and then Carol didn't respond after that. Instead she fell asleep. He knew she needed to get back to her cell before morning light revealed empty sheets, but he couldn't bring himself to wake her. Not yet. And not entirely for her own sake either. The peaceful rhythm of her breathing, the cadence of her heartbeat and the warmth of her body pressed against his provided a kind of satisfaction Daryl didn't know even existed. It wasn't until an hour later that he brought himself to help her down the steps and to her cell. That night he slept better than he had in a long, long time.


	7. Three Tiny Words

"Almos' there…" he assured as he led her down the hallway. They were deep inside the prison, winding through recently cleared corridors. Carol had a tattered strip of cloth wrapped across her eyes as a blindfold. She had no idea where he was leading her, but she tried to trust him.

Finally she felt herself being guided through a doorway. He walked her a few more paces and slipped the blindfold off. She gasped, looking around.

"What _is _this place?" she asked as she made her way around the room. It was a good size, with a large window looking out into a lobby. Overturned chairs and busted tables had been pushed in heaps around the sides, creating a border of sorts. She could make out the form of a smashed computer amid the wreckage. Papers were scattered everywhere.

"Some kinda administration office is my best guess," Daryl replied, leaning over and pointing to a square picture frame lying in a corner. Carol bent down to get a better look. She picked it up and the fractured glass fell out, clattering to the floor. She brushed some dust off the picture inside. It was of a young girl with a pretty smile resting against a wooden railing at some kind of beach. The ocean breeze whipped at her long brown hair.

"What do you think happened to her?" Carol asked suddenly. Daryl turned away.

"Doesn' matter."

"It matters for her," Carol whispered, dropping the picture frame. It made a clang as it connected with the concrete. There were a few seconds of awkward silence as Carol silently wondered about the girl's fate.

"D' you like it?" Daryl asked as he set his crossbow down against a wall, below a blood-spattered calendar. He didn't tell Carol, but he'd taken out two walkers in there the day before. Through the crusted blood, it was obvious the calendar page hadn't been changed since the outbreak. He flipped through several pages, wondering what month it was.

"It's wonderful." Carol assured, walking towards him and giving his hand a friendly squeeze. He smiled briefly; shyly. He watched, arms crossed, as she explored some more.

"Better get back. Told Rick I'd only be gone a minute. Don' want nobody comin' down lookin' for us." he said as he grabbed his crossbow once more and started for the door. Carol turned around and nodded, joining him in the hallway. The door clicked shut. As they travelled down the dark hall, they made light conversation, cherishing the time alone together.

The entrance to Cell Block C was now in sight, but Carol wasn't sure she was _quite_ ready to part ways. She stopped suddenly, blocking Daryl's way, and spun around. Then she pushed him hard against the wall and her lips connected with his. He stood there, frozen, breathing in her scent, wishing he knew how to return the kiss. But he didn't. He couldn't even remember kissing his mother. He instantly became aware of how rough his lips were compared to hers; how scratchy his cheeks were; how awkward he was. He slid down the wall, dodging away from her. She stared at him, the enchantment broken, and a tension filled the air, breaking only when they parted after entering Cell Block C.

.:|:.

It was only an hour later that Rick approached Daryl with a favour in mind. He had been sharpening his hunter's knife when the ex-cop's feet appeared at the edge of his perch. Daryl looked up at him, putting his blade down.

"Well?" was the only greeting he felt like giving him today.

"We're low on food." Rick explained, his hands on his hips. "I'd appreciate it if you went on a run; maybe brought back some fresh meat too."

Daryl nodded. "Sure."

"And I want you to take Carol."

Daryl stared at Rick, mouth slightly open. He couldn't tell if the man was onto them or completely oblivious. He hoped for the latter. Rick's facial expression didn't change. He didn't knowingly smirk. His eyes didn't gleam with playful suspicion.

"Why?" Daryl asked, going back to sharpening his knife, trying to avoid eye contact.

"She's been cooped up here with the baby for an awful long time. Plus, I don't want you goin' out alone. We can't lose you again." Rick responded.

Daryl glanced over at Merle's cell. He could see his brother's face twisted into a glower. For a moment he considered declining. But then he regarded how it would look to Rick, who knew nothing of Merle's threat. Feeling defiant, he nodded in agreement. Rick helped him to his feet. Daryl yelled for Carol, who appeared with Judith in her arms. Her smile rained warmth down on the baby's head.

"Come on. We goin' on a run. Gotta get us some food." He told her firmly, sticking his knife into its sheath and grabbing his crossbow. He had an extra handgun at his left hip, too. He pointed towards the large backpack. "You grab that one, I'll take this one."

"Right now?" Carol asked, looking confused as she handed Judith off to Rick. Both of the men nodded and she resisted the urge to check if Merle was watching. She hoisted the empty backpack onto her shoulders after checking the bullets in her gun.

Carol could have sworn when she turned her head before exiting the prison, she caught a glimpse of a tiny smile playing on Rick's lips.

.:|:.

The first place they raided was an old corner store. The sign that loomed above it had been in desperate need of a lick of paint even before the apocalypse, but the windowpanes were surprisingly intact. Carol held her gun at the ready as Daryl beat the door open. At first they heard and saw nothing, but then low growls became audible as at least two pairs of feet limped through the aisles.

The first walker rounded the corner and sped up at the sight of fresh meat. But Daryl was faster, and the only thing that walker ate was a bolt. Carol pounced on the second walker, driving her knife clean through its skull. Blood spurted. Carol felt slightly impressed with herself. Daryl acknowledged the clean, timely kill with a smile and a nod. He'd taught her well.

Many people had been there before them, and most of the shelves were wiped clean. They didn't, however, leave empty-handed: they gathered several bottles of water, a twelve-pack of energy bars and a can of spam (at which Carol cringed). They also snagged some bottles of various medications and some feminine products for the women (at which Daryl blushed).

.:|:.

Meanwhile at the prison, Rick had an idea of what had caused the increased distance in Daryl and Carol's relationship. One day they had been thick as thieves and the next, Merle had been folded into the mix and the two barely looked at each other. He felt the obvious theory was also the correct one.

"Well, if it ain't Officer Friendly," Merle sneered from his cell. Rick chuckled sarcastically. "The hell do you want anyway?"

"I've noticed somethin' off about Daryl that I wanted to ask you about." Rick slid the metal key into the lock on the cell door. With a jerk of his hand, it came swinging open. "I'm willing to let you out if you'll be civil."

Merle gave a snarly laugh, but stubborn as he was, he was sick of being cooped up in that crate twenty hours a day. He secretly rejoiced at being able to take full steps.

"There's a woman here who you might not remember. She and her family also stayed at the quarry: Carol Peletier."

Merle wandered towards Daryl's perch and began climbing the steps. Rick followed him, ready to draw his gun in a moment's notice. But Merle wasn't interested in attacking Rick. Not today.

"Yeah, I know the bitch."

Rick ignored the distasteful name as Merle prodded around his brother's things. The grimace he made when he stumbled across the poncho was priceless.

"Well, they were pretty close up until the…_incident _at Woodbury. You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, would you?"

Merle turned to face Rick with spiteful eyes.

"Lemme spell it out real clear for you: all this time its jus' been me an' my brotha. An' he ain't never had, nor is he e'er gonna have nobody but me, 'cause nobody really cares for 'im but me. 'Cause you don' know 'im. Don' know what we been through. Ain't nobody does but me."

Rick had heard enough. He grabbed Merle and dragged him down the stairs and towards his cell. The incensed man roared obscenities as he was thrown into his cell.

_You're wrong. _Rick thought angrily as he stormed off, Merle still pummeling threats at him. _Carol knows. _

.:|:.

By the end of the day, they'd raided six locations and filled their backpacks with food and other valuable assets. The sun was sinking into the horizon and there was little light left. They knew they had to hurry back but neither were eager to say goodbye. Their pace was slightly slower than it should have been, and by the time the prison was in sight the moon had risen and its pale beams were reflecting off the high gates. Knowing their time together was coming to a close, Carol leaned in to give Daryl a hug. Her body melted into his as she nuzzled her head into his neck.

Daryl mustered the courage to return the gesture. His arms wrapped crookedly around her frame. There were three words waiting to be born on his lips, but he could not bring himself to say them. Maybe it was because he felt like he would be admitting his weakness: he had allowed himself to crave her affection to the point where it became a need, even if that affection was but a nod or a sly grin. Or maybe it was because he didn't feel worthy of a woman's love, and especially not Carol's. Whatever the reason, he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Even hours afterwards, while he lied in his blankets on his perch, those three words plagued him. He needed to say them to her, but he where he'd even begin. It baffled him how a trio of tiny, insignificant sounds could become so powerful when combined. He wasn't sure if he was ready to wield that power.


	8. The Way It Has to Be: Part I

_I just realized that I've forgotten completely about Michonne! We're just going to have to pretend they parted ways at Woodbury, because it's too late to write her in now! Sorry for that, I am quite absent-minded. Anyhow, enjoy! This chapter will be a bit…well…mature ;) _

"No squirrels?" Rick asked as he sorted through Daryl and Carol's harvest from the previous night. Daryl shot daggers at him, and he nodded in return; in understanding. They at least had a lot more food: bags of rice, honey, canned beans, peanut butter, oatmeal, strawberry jelly, packs of beef jerky, canned corn, flour, sugar, pasta, canned carrots and peas, a jar of tomato sauce, even a bottle of red wine.

Maggie gasped as she wandered over to admire the goods. Beth joined her. They marveled at the jar of red jelly.

"Mama used to make this stuff homemade," Beth commented under her breath, taking the jar from Maggie and spinning it in her hands. Maggie gave her sister's shoulder a loving squeeze when she saw emotion clouding up in her blue eyes. Beth sniffed and wiped away her tears, putting the jar down on the table.

"How many stores did you hit?" Maggie asked Daryl. She fiddled with the bottle of honey, tracing her finger across the plastic bear's nose and round eyes.

"'Bout five. Most of 'em were wiped clean."

"How many walkers did you see?"

Daryl paused. He and Carol exchanged glances, mentally consulting each other. They hadn't really noticed the walkers. Most of them they just ignored.

"I took down about five. Don't know about Daryl." Carol replied, although the question wasn't posed directly to her. Daryl nodded in agreement.

"Sounds 'bout right."

.:|:.

That evening they ate better than they had in ages. Maybe it was just because they weren't so worried about running out of food. Carol used her knife to saw through the tin lid of the canned beans and boiled half the bag of rice over a low fire. Maggie suggested breaking the wine open in celebration of unity, prosperity and a warm meal. Nobody objected.

All throughout dinner, the prison walls echoed with the laughter of giddy adults and two very entertained children. Even Judith lit up when she saw her daddy gleaming with amusement. The only people that didn't seem to be enjoying themselves were Merle and Daryl. Merle kept his glare fixed on his little brother, who seemed to be feeling the pressure of Merle's scowl full force. Every time Carol glanced over at Daryl she witnessed nothing other than two rivaling brothers staring each other down.

After the meal, Carol and Beth cleaned up. Carol washed the dishes and Beth dried them, as was customary. They engaged in their usual lighthearted chat. But that night the conversation unintentionally evoked dark memories on Carol's part.

"Did you have any pets?"

Carol stopped scrubbing suddenly, lifting her head. Beth was wiping a plate dry with a raggedy towel, oblivious.

"…no. We didn't." she replied quickly. Beth didn't seem to notice Carol's less-than-cheery tone of voice.

"We had some. Not jus' the horses, either. Had this big fat cat named Chester. Liked to gut the mice he found in the barn. An' Shawn had this mutt called Scruffy who used to chew up all the furniture. He disappeared a week after the outbreak, though. Jus' ran off."

Beth reminisced and so did Carol, but they had very different memories. Whereas Beth remembered her pre-apocalypse days with a longing sigh and a smile, Carol wished she could wipe them completely from her mind. Beth knew that Carol had lost her daughter, but she knew nothing of her fifteen-year-long abusive marriage. She wouldn't have batted an eyelash if the name "Ed" was even mentioned, regardless of whom it was being addressed. But Carol would have cringed and remembered the sting of her deceased husband's hand every time it connected with her face. She would have remembered the dead stare in his eyes every time he looked at her. She would have remembered how afraid he was of her running off with another man that he forced her down and cut her hair.

"Carol?"

Beth waved a hand in front of Carol's face and the woman snapped to attention.

"Are you alright?" Beth asked, finishing another dish and placing it in a stack with the rest.

"Yes, honey, I'm fine." Carol assured as she rinsed the inside of a mug that had been used for wine. _Pickings were slim_…

The next few moments were filled with only silence. Carol tried to divert her thoughts from Ed, but it seemed his face kept wandering back into her mind.

"If you could eat anything in the world right now," Beth began, staring into the dishes, the movement of her hands temporarily ceasing. "What would it be?"

Carol thought for a moment, relieved Beth had changed the subject and given her somewhere else to direct her attention. Finally she decided.

"Crab legs dipped in butter, with chocolate cake for desert!" she announced with a laugh.

"I'd choose pancakes: big, fluffy ones with strawberry syrup all over them."

"Mmm," Carol imagined the meal Beth had described. She couldn't even _remember _the last time she made pancakes. She couldn't recall if she'd made them on the last Christmas before the outbreak or not. It had been family tradition, so she decided she must have. Sophia _always _begged for them to be in the shape of snowmen.

"And lots of whipped cream!" Beth added zealously.

.:|:.

Meanwhile, Daryl sat on his perch in Cell Block C. He was peering out the window and could feel Merle's eyes burning through the back of his skull. It was only a matter of time before that rough, demanding voice cut through the silence.

Everyone was scattered around the prison, scrambling to finish up whatever they had been doing before darkness blotted out the last golden rays of light. The two brothers were alone in the cell block, which was never a good situation. It was clear even to the Greenes, who knew nothing of Merle up until he joined them, that the Dixon duo had a lot of problems that they needed to work out—and they preferred to work them out by battling.

"Ya didn' listen t' me, lil' brother," began that abrasive, unmistakably-Merle voice. Daryl didn't bother looking over at him. "I told you not t' hang around that woman, 'cause she ain't nothin' but trouble. An' what do you go an' do? You disappear with her for six hours, tha's wha' you go an' do!"

"Rick asked me to take her." Daryl defended coldly.

"You an' Rick married now? Hell, sorry I missed the weddin'!"

"Shut up. Rick's my friend. More than you ever was."

Merle laughed. "Rick may be a better man than me, but I'm still the only family you got left. An' I can't boss nobody here 'round but you. You better listen t' me, lil' brother, 'cause I know wha's best. Ain't nobody here tha' knows you like I do."

.:|:.

Carol woke up to a hand being clasped over her mouth. She struggled and thrashed as she strained her vision, trying to pierce through the darkness and make out who was restraining her. Then, a soothing whisper shushed her. She relaxed as Daryl helped her to her feet.

"Where are we going?" she asked very, very quietly. He gave no reply. As he led her out of her cell, she could hear Merle's snores and was silently thankful. The bastard was a heavy, heavy sleeper.

The direction Daryl was guiding her was familiar. After a while, she extended her arm and her fingers brushed against a wall. Yes, they were in a hallway. Her eyesight had adjusted fully by the time they entered their little room. A petroleum lantern was glowing away in the middle of the room.

They stared at the radiance the lantern was releasing like moths mesmerized by a flame. Finally Carol spoke up.

"What was with you at dinner? You didn't say a word."

"Yeah, I wonder why."

Carol brought her gaze back down to the lantern. She knew the reason why Daryl had been so quiet. She felt terrible for him, but she knew if she tried to interfere in any way he'd strike her down.

"He's still pestering you, isn't he?"

Daryl gave a sardonic snort. "He's a lil' more than jus' a pest."

"But he has to let go. He _has _to. An' if you don't say anything now he'll jus'-"

"No, Carol, stop; jus' stop, okay?! Look, I know you don' like this, but this…this is jus' the way it has to be."

"Right," Carol murmured softly. The hurt in her eyes filled Daryl with guilt. He wished he didn't have to yell at her. But how else would his message register with her? How else would it sink in? "The way it has to be."

Five minutes of soundless tension ensued, during which Daryl observed Carol: her silvery hair, soft and tufty as downy feathers, her gentle blue eyes, the blank space on her neck where once, a long time ago, hung a cross. Occasionally he'd notice her fingers dart up to stroke where the cross used to be but she hadn't done that in a long time.

"So…how long's it been?" she asked suddenly, a tint of amusement in her voice. He hadn't even noticed he'd been staring at her chest. Embarrassed, he turned away, not even grasping yet what she meant. When he finally realized, he felt his cheeks turn even redder.

"I…wasn't…" he stammered, but slyly Carol leaned over, taking his face in her hands and nuzzling at his lips. She pushed him to the ground. His mind raced. He wasn't ready. Not yet. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to reject her.

"'s okay…been a long time for me, too." She giggled in between deep breaths.

"Carol…I haven't…" was all he managed to squeeze out before she blotted out the rest of his sentence with a kiss. This time, it wasn't shy. It wasn't brief. They weren't saying goodbye. It was passionate and deep, and on the third try, Daryl figured out how to return it.

In hindsight, he supposed it was better that he never got to finish what he tried to tell her. He realized how embarrassed he would have been afterwards if he'd admitted at that moment that he was still a virgin.

When they were done, an exhausted Carol drifted off to sleep, leaving Daryl to work through his thoughts, conflicting emotions battling for dominance inside his breathless body.

_Did I hurt her? _

He'd tried so hard to be gentle, but it was difficult. She was a determined, strong-minded woman but her body and bones were still fragile. He could make out scars tracing her body, not unlike the ones that traced his. He ran his finger over a raised one on her stomach, careful not to wake her.

_Why the hell did I do that? _

In the dead of the post-apocalyptic night was the worst possible time to have sex. And now he had an even bigger secret to keep from Merle.

_Do I even deserve her?_

Carol was a battered woman. She needed an emotional support to lean on, not someone like him. He was so worried she would put too much trust in him, and one day something would make him snap and he'd lash out at her like he had twice before and they'd never repair their friendship.

"_Ain't nobody here tha' knows you like I do". _

What if Daryl didn't even know himself? Maybe Merle was right in some twisted way—maybe he_ did_ need to stay away from Carol, because he loved her and didn't trust himself with love?

_What if she's pregnant now?_

They hadn't used any protection. Glenn and Maggie were the only ones that had condoms. He hoped they'd timed it right. Besides the fact that it'd be damn hard to hide, pregnancy was risky at Carol's age even with modern medical care and the group couldn't look after two babies. One was enough. Daryl tried not to dwell on '_what-ifs'_.

"I love you."

The words took all the courage in the world to push out, but when they were finally released softly into her ear, he felt like all the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He wished he were braver and could say it to her when she was awake; when it counted. _Baby steps_, he supposed.

"I love you, too."

Her reply caught him by surprise. Her eyes fluttered open. Her smile was faint but visible. And for a moment, everything seemed alright. But that moment would pass.


	9. Haunted

_Geez, something serious was screwed up with this document. Sorry about that! Enjoy! :) _

The sun was peaking over the horizon, cleansing the earth of shadows and bathing the dewy grass in golden light. The sky was blooming with colour: blues, pinks, reds and oranges. A nightly chill still hung on the air. It was a brilliant sight, and Daryl Dixon was awake to see it.

He hadn't slept a wink. Every time he drifted off, new horrors blossomed in his dreams: Carol dying in childbirth like Lori had; Merle's fist swinging towards his face; a stillborn child lifeless in his arms; Carol's eyelids lifting to reveal milky irises as her once-stiff body reanimated. Eventually he gave up trying to find rest, and instead took comfort in watching the birth of a new dawn.

Daryl wasn't sure if he regretted what he and Carol had done only hours earlier. It had happened so fast, it seemed like it was just another dream. But it was real. His hands were still shaking. His heart was still pounding. His hair was still tousled and ruffled from Carol's hands clutching at it. The top two buttons on his vest were unfastened, exposing the scars on his chest. God, he hoped she hadn't noticed them. He remembered tensing up when she ran her hands across his torso, terrified she would inquire about them. Then he'd have to explain. Then he'd have to relive the terror.

_It was late—at least two in the morning. When Daryl peered out his window, there was no pallid moon, no glittering stars, just an empty black sky looming over them like a void. _

_Two bright orbs cut their way through the fog that was engulfing their street. The orbs drew closer and closer until Daryl could make out that they were not orbs at all. Instead they were headlights connected to a car. _

_Adingy old station wagon rolled into their driveway. Daryl's breath caught in his throat. He gasped. His door burst open in an instant. _

"_The hell are you doin'? Get in bed!" _

_Daryl needed no further coaxing, and it wasn't just because he obeyed his big brother's every command. It was because daddy was home, and Daryl was afraid of daddy._

_The little boy, scarcely eight years young, leapt under his covers. His squirmed down into his blankets until the top of his head barely rested on the pillow. He breathed heavily. He forced his eyelids shut, trying to compel himself to sleep. He squeezed his teddy bear close. That raggedy old critter was the closest thing he had to his mama._

_She had only died two years earlier, but he felt like he barely remembered her. Maybe what precious few memories of her he had had been buried along with her body. No—her _ashes_. Mama didn't have_ _a body no more._

_Merle left Daryl's room promptly, making sure his little brother was locked up and safe. He heard the car door open and slam shut. He ran to the kitchen, grabbing the sandwich and beer from the refrigerator. He placed them on the table and waited, jumpy and tense._

_He heard daddy's keys jingling as he struggled to unlock the front door. After several minutes of unsuccessful labor, the hulking, intoxicated man became filled with rage and smashed his bulky body into the wood. The door shuddered on his hinges. Finally, it gave in. Merle squeezed his hands into fists. His knuckles went white._

_Wyatt Dixon stumbled into the house, eyes glazed and reeking of booze. He stared Merle down as he wobbled over to the table, squishing his body into the chair and began stuffing monstrous bites of sandwich into his mouth, staring blankly at the wall. Merle's foot was thumping against the floor uncontrollably. He swallowed hard as he watched his father guzzle down the beer. _

"_What're you lookin' at?" Wyatt growled, his voice muffled with food. Merle's cut his gaze from his father immediately, focusing on the reflections in black screen of the television. _

_When the plate was cleared and the bottle drained, Wyatt scooted out. The chair legs ground shrilly against the wooden floor. Merle flinched. Wyatt grumbled in frustration. He stood, leaning on the table to regain his balance, and turned to take his leave. It was then that Merle noticed a tiny blue car precisely where Wyatt's foot was about to land. Before he could react, his father had already slipped and was flat on his face, roaring, incensed. _

_Merle extended his hand to help his father up, but Wyatt was too drunk and too furious. He slapped his oldest son's hand away, swearing, rising to his feet. _

"_That stupid brat…" he sputtered, whirling around, trying to remember where Daryl's door was. He spotted it, heading straight for it, taking huge, stomping paces. Merle panicked._

"_Daddy, don't!" he pleaded, but his father wouldn't hear it. Merle's begging was silenced with a fist to his teeth. He buckled, holding his mouth. His tongue had split under his tooth. He was spitting out blood. Wyatt began to beat down his little brother's door._

_The door fractured open. Daryl screamed as his father burst in like a raging bull. His hands fumbled for his belt buckle. He unfastened it, sliding the black strip of leather out of the loops in his jeans, holding it in his hands like a cruel whip. Merle lunged to protect his brother. The strip of leather connected with his eye. It stung. It throbbed. Merle was powerless. He cradled his head, clasping his hands over his ears. It wasn't enough, though. His mere hands weren't enough to drown out the sound of Daryl's anguished yelps as his father beat him once, twice, three times, four times, and countless times more. _

_When he was done, little Daryl was heaving sobs. Wyatt brushed past Merle in the hallway as if nothing had ever happened. Merle tried to comfort his hysterical baby brother, tried to clean the wounds, but every time that warm, damp rag came in contact with one of the lashes it stung wildly. It was the first time daddy had ever beat Daryl that hard. It wasn't the last._

"You okay?"

The harsh whisper came out of nowhere. Daryl turned his head sharply towards the source, startled. Glenn stared up at him, blatantly confused. His shotgun rested on his shoulder. He still insisted on wearing that stupid hat.

"Yeah. I'm jus' _fine_."

Glenn seemed taken aback by the given answer, like something awful had happened that he wasn't filled in on but expected to know anyway. He squinted up at Daryl, determined to get to the root of the man's sudden angst.

"Have you even slept? You look like hell."

Daryl rolled his eyes, overtired and irritated.

"Why don' you mind your own damn business?"

"Sorry for caring." Glenn retorted sarcastically, holding his hands up in defense. Daryl snorted.

"Like you care 'bout me." he muttered, but was grateful Glenn didn't hear.

"Hey, kid, why're you up so early anyhow?"

Glenn shrugged. "Dunno. Woke up a half an hour ago, couldn't get back to sleep. Thought I'd go take watch."

"You takin' Maggie?" Daryl asked, simply curious.

Glenn shook his head. "Nah."

.:|:.

"Carol?"

Daryl's voice was quiet; nervous. The woman in question turned to smile at him. Today she was unusually serene and hushed but her lips were curved in a way that suggested she was also satisfied and feeling especially confident. He noticed two tiny, silver butterflies dangling from her earlobes. They caught the light in a particularly beautiful way.

"You like them?" she asked, reaching up to stroke the petite wings. He nodded dazedly. She grinned. "Rick gave 'em to me. They were Lori's favorite pair…"

Carol's voice trailed off. Daryl swallowed hard, crossing his arms and scanning the area for anyone else. He wanted to make sure there wasn't a chance in the world he could be overheard. When it seemed clear, he reminded himself that it was now or never. He took a deep breath.

"I was jus' wonderin' if you could be…y'know…_pregnant_."

He said the last word very quietly. At first Carol froze, but then she chuckled, shaking her head and going back to scrubbing oatmeal out of a bowl.

"No, Daryl. There's no way; none at all." She smiled, reaching up and bopping the tip of his nose with her soapy finger playfully. She pressed the sponge harder into the bowl as memories replayed in her mind.

_It was utter chaos: voices piling on top of each other, hands grabbing, more needles biting into her flesh, a baby wailing—_her _baby._

"_Sophia?" she managed to squeak out. She raised an arm limply. A doctor pushed it back down. She had no strength to resist. Someone was telling her to calm down. What the hell did they even mean by that? She was far too sedated to panic._

"_This much blood is incredibly abnormal," said a deep voice. Its owner wasn't speaking to her; it was speaking to its assistants. "Her uterus is ruptured. If we don't take it out, she'll die." _

_Her heart sunk, and as much as she wanted to fight—wanted to stay awake—she was fading fast. The last thing she saw was a large silver scalpel glinting in the light as it was passed from one doctor to another. _

_When she awoke hours later, a nurse was adjusting her I.V. She was a pretty young girl with a brown ponytail and sharp cheekbones. Her nametag was blurry, but her smile was warm and tender. _

"_Good morning, Mrs. Peletier." The nurse greeted. "How are you feeling?"_

"_Sophia…my baby…is she alive?" Carol asked, ignoring the question. Her breath was weak and shaky. She was drowsy but terrified. She needed to know her baby was safe. _

"_Your daughter's fine." The nurse reassured. "Congratulations." _

_The nurse didn't tell her then, but the doctors had to surgically remove Carol's uterus that day in order to salvage her life. Carol was devastated. She had hoped from the moment her pregnancy test turned out positive that one day she would be able to have another. She had always prayed to one day be a mother to two girls. After countless miscarriages, she finally had her daughter that she'd always dreamt of. She should have felt grateful. But she'd forfeited her ability to bear any more children in the process, and she couldn't help but feel betrayed._

"Okay. I was jus' thinkin', 'cause, y'know…Lori an' all…"

The pained look on Carol's face made him pause. He scratched his shoulder uncomfortably. It didn't even itch.

"Tha's alright, Daryl. I understand." She told him in a borderline whisper, her face brightening just a shade. He gave an uneasy smile as she went back to her work, humming softly. He trudged back to Cell Block C. She watched him as he left. He hid it well, and maybe he could fool everyone else, but he couldn't deceive her: something was haunting him. And truth be told, lately her past had been haunting her too. She knew she wouldn't lure it out of him easily, but if she persisted, she was confident they could lay their troubles to rest once and for all, together.


	10. Hunting with a Dixon: Part I

_Okay guys, so, this chapter took a long time to write. I've been really busy and for some reason, nothing seemed "right". I would finish a paragraph and delete it. So, forgive the time lapse. Enjoy! _

_Chop._

The cold metal axe bit a deep gash in the log of wood.

_Chop._

The log splintered in half.

Daryl added the halves to the rest of the pile. He'd been collecting and cutting firewood it all morning. With summer's heat bleeding out, they'd soon find themselves in desperate need of a source of warmth to protect themselves from autumn's chill—and then winter's wrath.

Footfalls approached behind him. They were soft and gently crunched through the overgrown grass. It wasn't a walker. That was for sure. Walkers were noisy. Their growling and groaning could be heard from a mile away. Plus they limped like beaten dogs.

Daryl didn't need to glance over his shoulder to know it was Carol. She'd been following him around like a shadow lately. Daryl wished she wouldn't. They'd slept together. They weren't _married_.

"Somethin' you want?" he asked, his tone abrasive, before hacking at another log. Carol flinched every time the axe came recklessly in contact with the wood. She was worried he'd nick his foot on accident.

"Back up a little, or you'll lose a toe." She warned, but she got nothing but an amused snort out of the Dixon before her.

"Yeah, I'm sure I will." He retorted. He swung the ax down even harder. The log was violently divided and the axe head sunk into the soil. He ripped it out and used his bare hand to brush off the dirt. Carol squirmed.

"You don't need to snap at me. I didn'-" she paused suddenly. Then she crossed her arms firmly. "Look. I know somethin's botherin' you. Don't try to pretend you're alright. Truth is, somethin's been botherin' me, too. I think it'd do us a lot of good if we could just sit an' talk-"

"Talk about_ what_, Carol?!"

He flung the axe down and spun on his heel to face her. There was not anger in his eyes—no fire, no fury—but instead pain: sadness, hurt, torment. There were little memories swimming across his irises, ghosts of his past invoked through remembrance, and shades of fear for what tomorrow may bring. He was afraid of losing her. Sooner or later they'd all die somehow or another. He'd already grown far too close. He was already damned for sorrow.

"There ain't nothin' to talk about. Wha's done is done. Sittin' 'round playin' therapist ain't gonna change shit."

But Carol wasn't convinced. Daryl could deny it all he wanted, but he needed help. _She _needed help. Every fucking person in the whole goddamned_ prison_ needed help. They were _all_ battered. They were _all _broken. Life had prodded and picked and chipped away at _everyone's_ hearts, at _everyone's _minds. But Daryl and Carol—they had graves to dig and pasts to bury. If they could lay their previous lives to rest for good, maybe they could start a new one together.

.:|:.

The prison gang was gathered around the table for lunch. The air was sticky and stagnantly warm. Lately the weather had been mild and breezy and they had been confident that it meant they were exiting the sweltering summer and entering a pleasant autumn, but it turned out to be just a stint. The suffocating Southern heat had returned. It weighed heavy on their lungs and was utterly inescapable. Nobody had any idea what month it was. Even Daryl had lost interest in keeping track of time. It was futile.

They were nibbling on their rationed strips of beef jerky silently when Daryl finally spoke up. His voice was but a low grumble, like distant thunder after the brunt of the storm.

"Thinkin' 'bout goin' on a hunt soon." He announced, gathering everyone's attention immediately. He shrank a bit as he became the focal point. He wasn't used to being in the spotlight and tried to avoid it as often as possible. "A proper one, too. Two days long, at leas'. Wanna bring home more than jus' a few squirrels. Gettin' sick o' the damned things. Hopin' I'll get us a deer, or at leas' some rabbits."

Rick nodded in response. Maggie held out a piece of jerky for Beth, who received it with her teeth. A warm bundle of blankets occupied her arms. Judith suckled the rubber nipple of the bottle peacefully while Beth gnawed through the jerky, which had almost turned to leather.

"I'm not sure how I feel about that." Carol opposed, her words wavering. Merle's glare drilled into her immediately. Daryl looked up at her ever-so-slightly. The look in his eyes conveyed a warning.

"Why not?" asked Rick. He took a sip from the water bottle he shared with Carl. Carol glanced back down at her food, suddenly not hungry.

"_Because_." She (very poorly) tried to reason. But when she realized "because" wouldn't cut it, she expanded in barely a whisper. "We almost lost him once."

"Then come with me."

Daryl's offer took Carol by surprise. She had always figured Daryl would only ever want to hunt alone. He was the only one who knew how to. And wouldn't someone else trekking alongside him, crunching through the leaves and cracking every twig, be more of a burden than a help?

"If you're so worried 'bout me runnin' off an' gettin' killed, why don' you tag along?"

Carol's mouth hung open a bit, not knowing what to say. If she declined, she'd hurt Daryl—or at least risk sending him off to his death—but if she accepted with Merle sitting right next to her, she'd risk Daryl receiving yet another slandering from his brother.

"Jus' don' scare off any o' my kills." Daryl added, ripping off a mouthful off a thick strip of dried meat. Carol took a hesitant breath, holding back a smile.

.:|:.

"Where'll you set up camp?"

Rick helped Daryl load the car with supplies: food, water, blankets. A few guns were thrown in, just to be sure. Daryl was sure he'd only need his crossbow, but Rick (and Carol) insisted they bring a few hand pistols too. A crossbow with four bolts wouldn't get very far in case of a herd.

"We'll sleep in the car." Daryl replied, slamming shut the trunk of the green Hyundai. Carol was back by the side door, saying her goodbyes, giving Judith a kiss on her soft little forehead. She didn't intend on dying or vanishing, but then again, nobody did.

.:|:.

The car rumbled across the lumpy gravel path. Carol was staring silently out the window, shotgun in hand, almost hypnotized by the steady blur of trees. She was keeping watch for walkers as Daryl drove them deeper into the wilderness.

"Why are you takin' me?" Carol asked suddenly, breaking the hush in the air. Daryl glanced over at her.

"'Cause. Need some company, don' I?"

"I thought you were better off alone."

"Guess it jus' depends." He replied. Carol's eyes widened.

"Depends on _what_?"

"You _complainin'_?" he snapped, suddenly annoyed. "Listen, if you wanna go back t' that shithole,be my guest!"

Carol was jolted forward in her seatbelt as Daryl slammed on the brakes. He stared at her as she caught her breath, the rapidness in her heartbeat ebbing until its rhythm returned to normal. She shook her head slowly. Daryl grunted, pressing his foot down on the gas pedal. The car lurched forward before gaining speed. She noticed the exaggerated tendons in the back of his hands. He was gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"Tha's what I thought."

.:|:.

The sun had long abandoned the pair as they wended through the forest, dipping in and out of shadows cast by the lanky trees. The moon was high and proud as moons often are, but its beams harbored no warmth. The headlights turned into rays of steam. Carol shivered as she rubbed her hands together briskly.

"We should stop." She advised, still scanning for walkers. So far, they hadn't spotted any, although she knew for sure there must have been a few on their trail. "Make a fire. Camp out 'till mornin'. We'll head out at firs' light. Thought I saw some berry bushes a few miles back."

Daryl nodded in response. The tension leftover from their brief scuffle seemed to have faded.

"Yeah…guess I can't do no trackin' in the dark."

.:|:.

Their first walker encounter came scarcely an hour later. Daryl had been stoking the glowing embers with a skinny metal rod they'd brought along. Carol was finishing her supper. They'd brought along a few cans of chili. Granted, it was vegetarian, but neither of them complained. A warm, filling meal was always welcomed.

A twig snapped behind them. Both of them snapped to attention immediately. Daryl went to draw his blade, but Carol signaled for him to relax. She rose to her feet, knife in hand. The walker stumbled out of the shadows, lured by the fire and the scent of fresh meat. To Carol's alarm, it was tall. It would have towered above any of their group. Carol felt herself shrivel as the walker snarled, quickening its pace. Daryl tensed, curling his fingers around the hilt of his hunter's knife. He knew that Carol would kill him if he interfered then, but he made sure to be poised to strike in a moment's notice.

Carol pushed past the fear. She would not allow herself to be so easily deterred. She swung her leg up, kicking the walker as hard as she could in the gut. It stumbled back, arms still flailing and hands still grasping at air, before losing balance completely. Before it could stagger back to its feet, she pounced. Her blade was buried deep in its skull, precisely above the eye socket. It stopped struggling. It had died its final death.

Carol ripped her knife from its head. She wiped the blade on her pants, leaving three thick streaks of dark blood behind. She turned, her lips spread into a pleased smile. Daryl was grinning at her, the firelight shining off his cheekbones and flickering in his eyes.

"Looks like we gotta get you a better knife."


	11. Hunting with a Dixon: Part II

_So, this is the longest chapter yet. It was actually a ton of fun to write. Sorry about the ridiculous length and bloodiness. I've been getting a TON of great feedback and it's really, really motivating me. Have a great new year, all of you. Much love and, as always, enjoy! _

Hunting with a Dixon: Part II: A Cruel World

"Hey."

Carl's voice took Beth by surprise, and she lost grip of the cup she was cleaning. It slipped from her hands and dropped into the washing basin, splashing the concrete floor surrounding it with lukewarm sudsy water.

"Sorry," Carl apologized as he knelt to help Beth clean the mess. She shooed his hand away with an embarrassed half-smile. She blushed profusely as she mopped the floor with an already damp towel. Its frayed, graying edges created a soggy fringe.

"'S okay. Didn' see you there."

The wide brim of Carl's hat shielded most of his face from Beth's view. She couldn't tell what expression he wore. She held up the wet towel with one hand and chuckled nervously.

"Guess I need a new towel."

She stood to retrieve a dry rag from the supply closet and Carl jumped to his feet, blocking her path. She stared at him, perplexed.

"Carl, I need-"

"You were right." He stated suddenly, hands in his pockets. "Carol and Daryl are_ definitely_ in love."

.:|:.

Carol awoke to the smell of damp leaves and a snuffed campfire. She sat upright, rubbing her neck uncomfortably. The hair on one side of her neck was plastered to her head. She ran her fingers through the short silvery tufts. Her back ached something awful.

Daryl was still fast asleep. His breathing was heaving. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. He was scrunched up on the floor of the Hyundai, leaving the entire backseat area free for Carol. She noticed an extra blanket had been flung over her. She peeled it away and laid it over Daryl's freezing body.

_You didn't have to do that. _She thought as she reached for her boots. They were resting on the rear deck above her. There were bits of blood, flesh and brains embedded into the grooves on the bottom. She couldn't help but be amused at how casually she flicked them away.

Slipping the boots onto her feet, she scooted down towards the door and carefully pushed it open, making sure not to wake Daryl. Cold morning air rushed in. He groaned and fidgeted in his sleep. She slid out of the car, her shoes sinking into the moist soil. Cautiously, she closed the door, leaving Daryl to catch up on some much needed rest.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself tightly to conserve body warmth. The sky was dreary and overcast. A lonesome bird cawed somewhere overhead.

The fire was long dead. The ashes were chalky and cold. There wasn't a trace of heat lingering in the embers. She scavenged for fallen sticks and twigs to reanimate the flame, but it seemed they were all dewy and no good for kindling. After several endless moments, she came up with a few good branches and fumbled in her pocket for her lighter.

It was another hour before Daryl finally emerged from the confines of sleep. Carol was sitting cross-legged by the fire, chewing on a granola bar. It was a bit stale and the little chocolate chips were rather waxy, but food was food. Suddenly the side door of the car burst open and Daryl came jumping out, hopping around on one foot as he struggled to get his boots on.

"Goddammit!" he swore as he nearly tripped and fell straight into the dead, wet leaves. Carol snickered. She tried to be discreet, but he caught her amused grin and flashed a condemning look. She averted her gaze, trying to stifle her smile.

"The fuck you gigglin' at? An' why the hell didn' you get me up sooner?!"

"You've been exhausted for days, Daryl Dixon. Admit it. You needed to catch up on your rest. Can't have you fallin' asleep on the job." She explained sweetly after swallowing a bite of granola. She winked and he narrowed his eyes even further. She wondered how his lashes didn't bar his sight completely.

"An' if I slept through a herd? Then wha', Doc?"

Carol rose to her feet, crunching the shiny red wrapper up in her fist. She stuffed it down into the box it came from and offered an unopened bar to Daryl. He swiped it from her hands. She smirked, patting him on the shoulder.

"_You're welcome_."

Daryl grunted in response, ripping open the foil.

"Cheeky bitch." He muttered.

.:|:.

It was the third day.

Carol was foraging through the wilderness for anything that could be of use. She picked berries she found growing on shrubs and collected fallen nuts scattered beneath the trees. Occasionally she stumbled across an abandoned shack and raided it for supplies and more food. The two resolved to always stay within shouting distance, but they occasionally drifter farther apart. Daryl needed solitude and silence to track and hunt properly. Carol left him alone as he requested, relying only on her own knife and gun for protection. She wasn't going to be a burden.

_Not a burden. _

That was Carol's mantra. She'd repeat it in her head over and over every morning.

_Whatever you do, don't be a burden._

A brown shingled roof came into view, peeking out from above the trees. It was midmorning and the canopy of leaves blocked the sizzling rays of the sun, for which Carol and Daryl were immensely thankful. The air, however, was a bit muggy and Carol's feathery hair was plastered to her ears, temples and the back of her neck. She unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a sip.

Carol could spy the walls of the house, its white paint stained, moldy and peeling severely, beyond a barrier of vines and shrubs. She tried to push her way through but found the vines to be lined with little teeth. She winced, pulling away.

Tiny little beads of blood dotted her arms and wrists. She almost swore as she picked the thorns from her flesh. Still, she was determined. The house was a decent size. She swore she could make out the silhouette of a shed. Maybe there were garden tools inside—_sharp_ garden tools.

She seized her knife from her pocket, examining the blade. It wasn't very long, but it would do the job as long as she was careful. Minding the barbed vines, she began cutting her way through the foliage, towards the house.

When she finally reached the other side, she was no doubt battered. She hadn't been able to escape all the thorns and more than a few had grazed her. Her shirt was torn in several spots. She had a scratch extending across her cheek. But a little scrape never discouraged Carol.

She hesitated for only a moment. If she went on, she and Daryl would be well beyond shouting range. If anything went awry on either side, the other might not be able to even _hear _the screams, let alone get there in time. She decided it was a risk worth taking. She'd managed to stay safe so far.

The house was large and located in a clearing. It was enclosed on all four sides by trees and bushes, except for a small path winding through the forest, just large enough to fit a car. She noticed none of the windows were broken. That meant one of two things: either nobody had raided the house yet and all food and supplies were hers to claim, or it was occupied. She hoped for the former. Taking down a few walkers was nothing. Facing a band of terrified, heavily-armed survivors was another story completely.

Carol pressed on the door, testing its give. It seemed flimsy enough, probably immensely weakened by termites. With one hefty kick, the wood splintered and Carol was granted access. She climbed in. Instantly she was overwhelmed by a wretched stench. It was the stench of rot and decay; of death. It was a smell no human should be desensitized to. Yet she was so accustomed to it, she barely coughed.

She held her gun at the ready, knowing the chances of encountering a walker were very high. The house seemed so dark, even with sunlight pouring through the windows. Every shadow was treacherous. Every dim corner could serve as a hiding place for something foul.

There was a layer of dust and grime on everything. She slipped into the kitchen. The refrigerator was overturned. Its contents had spilled out and turned into a steady stream of thick sludge. She felt her stomach heave. She checked the cupboards. A single can of mixed fruit was all she found. She grabbed it, reading the label. Peaches, pears, cherries and grapes, all combined and drenched in thick, sugary syrup. Her mouth watered. She slipped it into her bag.

She moved on from the kitchen, strangely keen to explore the rest of the house. It'd been so long since she'd been inside one. In her mind, their prison was just a residence: a place to survive. Cold metal bars and towering fences weren't exactly comforting. They'd spent a long time on the road after the farm was overrun, never lingering in one place longer than absolutely necessary. It would have been nice to live in a _home_ again.

Carol scaled the winding staircase. It ended in a hallway. There were still picture frames on the walls. She observed the smiling faces sadly. There was a woman and a man with their two little boys and a dog with glossy, golden fur. That family portrait invoked a painful memory.

_It was a crisp autumn night, a few years before the outbreak. Sophia was playing with dolls in her room. Ed was zoned out in front of the television, a beer in his hand and his legs propped up on the coffee table in a way that made Carol squirm. She _hated _when he did that. But she knew she couldn't stop him. _

_She had just walked in the door, struggling to carry in heavy grocery bags. She stumbled into the kitchen, heaving the bags up onto the counter and unloading the groceries. She'd just been given a raise. She celebrated with a much-needed trip to the supermarket. _

_Carol had planned a trip to the local mall the following day with Ed and Sophia to take photos for a family portrait Ed's mother had desperately wanted. Since her birthday was but a month away, Carol thought it would be a nice gift. Often she'd wondered how such a terrible man could be created by such a kind woman. _

_She was humming to herself as she often did when Ed appeared in her path. The thin plastic handles of the bags she was holding were beginning to press deeply into the palms of her hands, weighed down by jars of marinara sauce. She tried to step past him, but he blocked her once more. She frowned._

"_What's wro-"_

_Her question was cut short by Ed's arm shooting out. He caught her firmly by the wrist. She tried to wiggle free. He tightened his grip. His fingernails cut into her skin. He yanked her towards him. She dropped the bags. The sauce splattered everywhere. It looked like a massacre had taken place. _

"_You went out in _this_?!" he roared, grabbing at her shirt. His anger over a piece of clothing silenced her. She didn't know how to respond to such unreasonableness. "Are you fucking stupid?!" _

"_I-"_

"_You can't wear this shit out, Carol! I won' have you struttin' 'round town lookin' like a fucking _whore_!" _

_Carol looked down at her blouse. It was pristine white and sleeveless. She'd bought it for herself a few months prior as a treat. It was _nice. _The V-neck wasn't even very low. It barely surpassed the cross on her necklace. _

"_I'm sorry," she whispered meekly. Ed was silent for a few seconds as she stared off into the distance, unable to face her husband. She hoped Sophia hadn't heard. Nothing scared the little girl more than her daddy when he was angry. _

"_Take it off." _

_Carol glanced up, furrowing her brow in confusion. _

"_Excuse me?"_

"_You heard me." he spat accusingly. Carol glanced back down at her shirt. Surely he couldn't mean…_

_But he did. She knew he did. Sheepishly she pulled up her blouse, tugging it off her head and handing it to Ed. He bunched the fabric up in his plump, sweaty hand. He flung it to the floor as Carol tried to cover herself. She prayed with all her might that Sophia wouldn't walk out and see her standing there, mortified and shirtless, in front of daddy._

_And just as Carol thought it was over, Ed's fist connected with her jaw. She held her face, trembling, as she sunk to her knees. She could already feel a bruise forming: big and sore and purple and hideous. She didn't even have hair to hide behind. _

"_Guess we ain't doin' that picture shit tomorro'." He spat as he left Carol to cry. _

Carol snapped out of it when she felt a tear slipping down her cheek. She pressed on, pushing the memory out of her mind. The past was the past. The bruises had disappeared. The scars had healed and faded. Ed was gone. He could never touch her again.

The creaks her feet made as she crept through the hallway were loud and pronounced. She tensed up every time she took a step. Her grip on her gun tightened. At the end of the hall was a table. Upon the dusty wooden surface was a thin, glass vase holding a dead flower. She tiptoed towards it and extended her hand. Using her index finger, she stroked a single dried petal. It crumbled. She sighed, and reached to grip the handle to the door on her left. She opened it swiftly. The hinges barely had time to squeal before Carol screamed.

There was a stray shotgun lying in the corner of the room. There were four corpses rotting away in the center. Three of them were motionless and stripped of flesh. One was not. The walker turned, growling. She gasped. She _recognized _him. He was the man from the photograph. The tattered, fly-infested bodies must have been his wife and sons. She froze at the realization of what had occurred in that very room.

He'd killed his family and then tried to kill himself. But his aim was askew—perhaps from his shaking hands—and he missed his brain. After reanimating, he devoured the people he loved most. It was the worst thing that could ever happen to a someone.

Carol reacted in the nick of time. She was within grabbing distance of the walker. She remembered what had happened to Dale. She wouldn't let that happen to herself. She aimed her gun and pulled the trigger immediately. Instantly, the growling stopped. The bullet blasted clean through its brain. It collapsed on top of her. She let another scream escape as she tried to struggle free. His putrefying flesh was squashed against her face. She nearly vomited as she heaved the body away, wishing she'd never ventured upstairs. She should have taken the damned fruit and never looked back.

But something kept her rooted there for another few minutes. Carol stared miserably at the ruined bodies before her. Once they were a happy family. Now they were naught but carnage. What had gone through those little boys' minds when their daddy pointed his gun at their heads? Did their mother scream in pain when she saw her dear children murdered before her eyes? Or was she first one killed that day? Could they have survived if they'd been given the chance?

Finally, Carol pulled herself away. Tears were streaming. She tore down the stairs, not giving a damn how much noise she made. She was in a frenzy to get away. She would never get that image out of her head, _ever_.

"Fuck, woman!"

Carol plowed straight into Daryl. He yelled as he stumbled.

But his initial annoyance at Carol's recklessness faded when she failed to jump back or let go. Instead she clung to him, sobbing, and for a few seconds he could do nothing but stand there like a total fucking _asshole _because he had no idea how to comfort her.

He resolved to just do what felt natural. He let a hand drift up towards her neck and stroked her hair. He wrapped his arm around her waist. He let her cry. He didn't try and break their embrace until she was good and ready.

"Wha's wrong?" he asked tenderly, taking her face in his hands. She sniffed, deciding whether or not to tell him. She softly shook her head.

"'s jus' a cruel world, is all."


	12. Garnet Gemstone

The car rumbled along the grass at a steady speed. They were approaching the prison, and the peaks of the roofs could be seen peering over the tops of the trees. Carol couldn't help but feel proud of their haul. Three full days of hunting and scavenging had paid certainly paid off. Daryl had successfully tracked and killed a deer, plus two rabbits and seven squirrels. They had more than enough canned goods, plus other things like soap, blankets, spare clothing and new badly-needed cooking utensils.

Suddenly, Daryl stepped on the brakes and the car came to a squealing halt. Carol watched, puzzled, as his hand doze into his pocket.

"Wha's the matter?" she asked, but her lips broke into a tiny grin when she noticed his fingers closed around something he was holding.

"Close your eyes," he instructed softly, and she happy complied. He admired her face for a few seconds before leaning forward. She felt his arms resting on her shoulders as his hands fiddled with something behind her neck. Finally he pulled away.

"Okay. Look."

Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes. Immediately she looked down at her chest, knowing exactly what Daryl had done. She gasped quietly as she brought her fingers up to stroke the little garnet stone lying just above the neckline of her shirt. The chain was gold. The stone had been smoothed and carved into the shape of a heart.

"Daryl, where did you-"

"'Fore we came back to the prison, we held up in this abandoned house. Found it in one o' the bedrooms. Thought of you might like it. I _think_ you like red…but hell, I dunno."

Little tears sprung to Carol's eyes. Tears not meant for release. She blinked them away briskly. Before Daryl could oppose, she had pulled him into an awkward hug. It was but a tiny gemstone, but it meant so much more than he could have ever imagined.

.:|:.

Rick watched the fence intently from the guard tower. His foot tapped nervously. He kept glancing up at the sky, noticing the change in the sun's position as the hours slowly dripped by. He knew the hunting trip was essential, but he couldn't help but feel slightly worried for the welfare of everyone.

He knew that Carol and Daryl were putting themselves at danger by running off into the woods alone, giving the group no solid idea of when to expect their return, nor any notion of where their intended location was, or how deep into the Georgian wilderness they were planning on venturing. He knew the Governor and his men were unlikely to have forgiven their disastrous encounter with the prison gang, and were most certainly always on the lookout; always planning their vengeance. Rick hated to think of the suffering his friends would endure before their inevitable execution if they were captured.

The sound of a door shutting softly and someone approaching broke Rick away from his train of thoughts. The footsteps were muffled from dragging feet. Rick turned his head to see his son ambling towards him, head bowed so that all he saw was the top of his sheriff's hat. Rick motioned for Carl to sit next to him.

"Hey," he greeted softly as the boy pulled up a seat beside him. The chairs in the guard tower were made of metal and highly uncomfortable. It was Carol who had suggested making covers for them, if she could find the required materials.

"They're still not back yet," Carl said, his voice scarcely a whisper. Rick nodded, sharing his son's worries. But he knew he couldn't show Carl that.

"Daryl said they'd be gone _at least _two days. It's only been three."

Carl fell silent for several seconds as he decided whether or not to believe Rick's reassurances. On one hand, Daryl and Carol were completely capable of looking after themselves. But on the other, the seemingly simple expedition to Woodbury to retrieve Maggie and Glenn had gone disastrously wrong and almost ended in tragedy.

"If anything happens to them-"

"_Nothing's_ going to happen to them." Rick snapped.

His voice was stern, almost chiding. It was obvious to everyone in the prison that Carl was far from the innocent child he should have been. The boy had seen and done more things in the past year than most people will ever see or do in their whole life. He didn't spend his Saturdays watching cartoons and eating pizza with his buddies. He spent them wondering if he would live to see another sunrise, or if his family would. They all feared that if they weren't careful, Carl could become numb to pain and loss. He could become merciless. He could become a monster.

"You don't know that!" Carl snapped suddenly, taking Rick by surprise with the urgency in his voice. "You don't know that they'll be okay. And if something happens to them, an' they don't come back…" Carl paused to regain composure, taking a deep breath. "…then who'll take care of Judith?"

Rick stared at Carl. His initial irritation at his son's newfound doubtful mindset faded. Carl wasn't cold. He hadn't raised a _monster._ Carl's protectiveness over his baby sister was assuring. And Rick understood Carl's concerns. Carol was the only one who could ultimately raise Judith. Rick was far too busy to pay his daughter the full attention that she needed. Carl was still a child himself, even if he _did _wield—and regularly make use of—a gun. Maggie and Glenn knew nothing about parenting. Hershel was disabled. Carol _had_ to act as Judith's mother. Lori would have wanted that.

But still, Rick couldn't let his son wander around the prison awaiting the worst. Carl was still impressionable. He still looked up to the adults of the group—specifically his father—and if he saw they hadn't let go of hope, he wouldn't either.

"Carol and Daryl are going to be _fine._" Rick promised, holding his son in his gaze firmly. "And if they aren't…well…we aren't even gonna think about that, okay? Now, why don't you go back an' play a card game with Beth?"

Carl nodded uncertainly and began backing away. Suddenly he spun on his heel. A question had been lingering on his mind for far too long.

"Dad, do you think Daryl and Carol are-"

His inquiry never spanned farther than that, for it was at that precise moment that Carl noticed the green Hyundai winding through the trees, advancing towards the prison.

.:|:.

"Holy shit, Daryl," was all Rick could manage to say when he laid eyes upon the sheer size of the buck Daryl and Carol had returned with. It was a majestic and elegant. It had long, slender legs built for leaping and two large antlers sprouting from its head. They were covered in fuzzy velvet. Its dark eyes were deep, glossy and unseeing. It was regal. It was cold. It was dead. It was dinner.

"Tracked this son of a bitch for miles! This time, there weren't no damned walker gnawin' on it."

Carol watched as the two men dragged the deer from the car and hoisted it inside prison, staggering under its weight. Carl marveled at the immensity of the animal. His gun hung at his side, his arm limp along with his jaw. Beth beamed as she called Maggie over. Everyone could practically _taste_ the venison melting in their mouths and the deer hadn't even been butchered yet. Daryl would have to do that soon.

Carol's plan was to set aside a portion of meat for dinner and roast it 'till it was tender and juicy. The rest she'd cut into strips, rub with herbs she'd snagged from a small health food market, and smoke over a fire out in the prison yard for a prolonged period of time, allowing the sun to dry it. Hopefully after a day or so they'd have jerky—a _lot _of jerky.

Rick helped heave the buck up onto the metal table where soon Daryl would skin, clean and prepare it. The rest of the prison gang gathered around it. Merle observed intensely from his cell. Beth stroked the deer's flank, the fur smooth and soft to the touch. Daryl watched as Axel crept around the corner, wandering over to where the others had congregated and peering over Beth's shoulder. Daryl noticed the uneasiness that seized the girl's face when she realized whose shadow had just eclipsed her. Hershel's eyes burned with disapproval. Daryl sneered to himself.

Carol was still back at the car, gathering the rations they'd brought back into a big bag that looked old as hell, judging by the frayed stitching and faded green colour. She smiled when she noticed Daryl progressing towards her, his strides small and cautious. He kept glimpsing over his shoulder to make sure nobody happened to be spying from the doorway. Carol beckoned him over. He quickened his pace.

"Hey there, cutie. Nice hair." She teased, and Daryl felt his cheeks blaze red. He reached up and ran his fingers through his dark locks, smoothing down a troublesome tuft that had developed from sleeping on the floor of that damned car. "'s gettin' a lil' long, don't you think?"

Daryl shook his head, his fingers wandering down to brush across his sideburns. He was rather fond of them. And she was, too, though she wouldn't admit it.

"Nope."

Carol stifled a giggle. "Fine. What's wrong? You're lookin' a little glum."

Daryl shrugged. Carol hauled the heavy bag up, realizing a bit too late that she wasn't nearly strong enough to support the weight. Daryl rushed over to help her, relieving the stress from her arms. He stumbled, astounded at the massiveness of it. This time Carol couldn't contain her amusement. The look on his face was far too precious. She helped him lower the bag back into the trunk.

"Guess we're gonna have to make a few trips after all," she sighed, beginning to unpack a few cans and bottles. "Damn."

Carol used to_ never_ swear. She always found another word to substitute the foul ones. But ever since she and Daryl's bonds began strengthening and they hung around each other more and more, she'd found her tongue slipping on a few rare occasions.

Suddenly she paused, a mischievous thought blooming in her mind.

"I never thanked you properly, for this." she confessed, stroking the gem that sparkled against her skin. Her eyes briefly glossed over the windows, but only for a second. She leaned up and her mouth connected with Daryl's, her lips fastening over his.

This time, Daryl froze only for a split second. He was still unsure of how to return her kisses—and knew for a fact he would never be able to repay them fully—but he let his hand drift up to hers and their fingers laced together. After several moments she pulled away, breaking the enchantment, unfastening their fingers. Daryl swallowed hard. He craved more, and it surprised him. It _scared _him. He was _terrified_ of how she had _bewitched_ him and _he didn't even care._

"You're welcome," he muttered. He cleared his throat when he realized how meager yet gruff his voice was. And from his spot at the doorway, having bore witness to it all, Carl smirked.

_This chapter for some reason did NOT want to publish… ugh. Hopefully if you're reading this, I've resolved the problem. Sorry for the dullish chapter. I have a lot of really fun ideas for the next chapter, though, so hopefully that'll make up for it. Anyway, in case you're wondering if I've dropped/forgotten about the whole "their happy moment would soon pass" thing, I haven't dropped/forgotten :) Some moments just last longer than others…;) _


	13. Just Doing Laundry

The long metal cart they found in the cafeteria was once used for hauling around lunches. Now it served as a butcher block. The slab of meat Daryl was hacking at no longer resembled a deer. His hands were slippery with blood. He cleaned them on his red rag and stuffed the square of dingy fabric back into his pocket. He wiped a lock of hair away from his sweat-slicked face with his wrist.

"Tha's a damn nice kill, lil' brother. Wonder who taught you all that."

Merle's voice echoed off the prison walls. Daryl disregarded the snide remark. He was facing the opposite direction of Merle's cell, but he could practically _feel_ his spiteful glare burning two holes in his back. Maggie and Glenn were off on a mission to bring back a table cloth. Daryl thought the item futile but quickly realized how much it must have meant to the Greenes—and everyone else, for that matter—to use one. Carol was preparing the stew with Beth. Rick and Carl were tending to the baby. Hershel was with them. He didn't care where Axel was, as long as he stayed away from Carol, or any of the women for that matter.

Suddenly a loud, obnoxious rattling triggered Daryl's knife to slip. He narrowly avoided slicing his finger. He swore under his breath.

"When d'you think Rick'll lemme outta this damned cage an' stop treatin' me like a dog?"

"When you done your time, brother." Daryl muttered.

"Don' you tell me 'bout doin' my time. I done my time an' more." Merle sneered.

Daryl spun around to face his sibling.

"You _seen _Glenn lately? He's _still _black an' blue."

Merle smirked. His smile was tiny and triumphant, as if he were an artist and Glenn's face—from his split lip to the clouds of purple on his cheek to his still-slightly-swollen eye—was his greatest masterpiece. Daryl turned away again, busying himself in cleaving meat from bone. Merle's smirk died.

"Don' you turn away from me! I'm talkin' t' you!"

"You ain't talkin'. Jus' tryin' t' piss me off."

"Come on, lil' brother. I'm on your side. I always been on your side. But you ain't the same as you was when I las' saw ya. Don' know if I like it."

Merle's voice dropped and his grip on the bars tightened. His knuckles went pale. Daryl bit down hard onto the soft spongy skin of his tongue to keep anything stupid from escaping his lips.

"I spent so long tryin' t' make a man outta you, Daryl. Now you jus' their damned errand boy."

Daryl flinched as déjà vu assailed him. Back at the Greene farm, when Daryl was bucked from that damned horse and thrown off that cliff, he'd experienced vivid hallucinations of Merle, who'd told him the exact same things. He chuckled to himself. He still knew Merle, but Merle barely knew him. The corners of his lips twitched up in satisfaction.

"I'm protectin' and providin' for my group. If that makes me less of a man, so be it."

"Protectin' and providin's one thing. But these fools have you thinkin' I'm the bad guy here. An' that damned woman…"

Daryl paused. He felt his spine go rigid, like a spooked cat on the defense.

"What about her?"

Daryl's voice was harsh and his words came out slightly louder than he'd expected. He found himself in the clutches of a wave of uneasiness. Merle was smiling. He knew it. He could_ feel_ it. It was a toothy smile; a smile from a mouth that had spoken many secrets and had one more to offer.

"Seems like you don' trus' ole Merle no more. Took me a while t' come t' terms with that. But fine. Go ahead. Defy me. See if I care. It'll be your loss, after all."

Daryl hesitated, the knife wavering over a hunk of meat. He brought it down stiffly.

"I don' know what you're talkin' 'bout."

Merle burst into a fit of strained, hoarse laughter.

"Like hell you don't! Don' play stupid with me. I seen the necklace. Seen it the day you took it from that damned house! Seen it again, jus' this mornin', an' I think you know where."

There was the clang of metal on metal as Daryl brought the knife down _hard_, severing the leg clean from the body, chopping through the bone with one swift motion. He whirled around, holding the bloodied blade out accusingly.

"That ain't none o' your business!" he yelled. He could feel his frustration tingling in his fingertips, working its way up his body and blotting out his thoughts. It barred his mind from thinking straight. Threats and curses burned in the back of his throat.

"The hell you mean, none o' my business? You're my goddamned _brother! _I'm the only family _you got! _An' I ain't gonna lose you to some useless, old, washed-out _housewife_!" Merle bellowed. Daryl's eyes were wide with shock as he stared at his enraged sibling. Merle breathed heavily. Daryl noticed his brother's hand trembling with ire; his pale knuckles curled around a single iron bar. And then, a metal door clicked closed. He glanced over his shoulder. He was almost afraid of who he'd see.

Carol.

_Fuck. _He thought, and before he knew it, his head had dropped in defeat. The hurt he saw reflected in her eyes _killed _him. How much had she heard? It didn't matter. She'd heard enough. The damage was done.

"I was just comin' in to see if the meat was ready."

Her voice was tiny and meek. She stared at her feet, fingers shyly tracing the bones in her wrist. Daryl extracted the red rag from his pocket as Carol walked over, her gait desolate. There was no sway in her hips. The bold woman that had planted a daring kiss on his lips just hours prior was gone; obliterated by Merle's destructive words.

"It is." He replied. His tone of voice was icy; venomous. He shoved past her, thrusting the bloody rag into her hands as he did so. She staggered, his force knocking her from her center of balance. There was a sore lump forming in her throat. The longer she suppressed it, the rawer it felt. A silenced Merle backed away, retreating into the shadows of his cell, like some kind of spider that spun schemes instead of webs. He was proud, and it sickened her.

.:|:.

At first it stunned him, waves of shock rippling through his body as he recoiled at the sensation of frigid water rushing down his back. After a while, he felt rather numb to it.

Little goosebumps rose up and down his arms. He hugged his knees and stared at the opposite wall. An eerie red tinge stared back at him: the ghost of a bloodstain. He restrained a shudder. He remembered Carol and how he'd stuffed his rag into her hands and stormed away, nearly heaving her to the ground. At the time he felt that was all he could do. Merle's words made him boil. Made his heartbeat accelerate and pump seething blood through his veins. But when he saw _her_ there, dispirited eyes cast down at the floor, he crumbled. Knowing that his own _brother _inflicted that pain into her pushed him over the edge. He couldn't lash out at Merle. So he lashed out at Carol. And now he hated himself for it.

He heard the familiar creak of a door being opened, and the soft thud of it closing proceeded.

"I'm almos' done!"

In reality, he didn't even bother standing up. Just sat there in the corner, slumped over, and let the bitter prison water stream down his face and pummel against his shoulder. Then the heard soft footsteps padding towards his shower stall. He braced his feet against the rickety plastic of the stall door, knowing the rusty hinges wouldn't hold against a determined walker.

But it wasn't a walker at all. It was Carol. He pulled his legs away, folding them in a way so that he was covered and kept his eyes on her feet. He'd noticed the dirt lined under her toenails. She stepped in, taken aback by the cold sprays of water that jumped out to greet her, and mirrored Daryl's position on the opposite wall. She didn't notice the pinkish stain. Daryl didn't feel the urge to point it out, either.

"Don' bother. Hot water's broken." He warned, gesturing up at the shower head. She gave a feeble smile in response and reached up, twisting the nozzle from 'hot' to 'cold'. Several seconds eloped and the icy edge in the water had been blunted. Several more and his goosebumps had descended back into his skin.

"Sorry 'bout what Merle said. You weren't exactly s'pposed t' hear that. He don't mean it. Jus' angry, is all." He explained. His blue irises barely peeked out between his narrowed eyes. Carol shook her head softly.

"No, he meant every word."

Daryl sighed. His head dropped, his cheek planted against his shoulder. Carol extended her arm towards his face and swept a lock of wet hair from his line of vision, tucking it behind his ear as best she could.

"Why did you take me with you, Daryl? You knew this would happen."

Carol's question rang in his ears a while before he mustered another deep breath. Daryl was never the kind of person to discuss his feelings or try to untangle them. Answering Carol's inquiry would entail just that.

"I _know_ what I told you, 'bout tryin' our hardest t' keep Merle in the dark. An' that…that jus' made me wanna get out with you even more."

He swallowed hard, and Carol could do nothing but stare at him, astounded, not knowing what to do or say. She'd never seen him like this. He was so defeated and _forlorn _sounding. His drawl was thicker. His throat was tight with emotion. Carol exhaled deeply and tilted forward. Daryl looked up at her. Hesitantly, but he did. She offered him a sympathetic hand. To her surprise, he accepted it, her pale fingers suddenly enclosed in his. She slid over, nudging her head into the crook of his shoulder. Her hair was saturated with stagnant water. He could nearly _taste _the tarnished pipes as little droplets leaked in through the crack in his lips.

Daryl drew her in intimately, her warm skin pressed against his, until he could inhale her breath. It was still sweet with the sugar of the blackberries she'd picked at dawn. Carol cherished every second of their embrace. She had never felt so protected and _loved_ before. She felt his head shift, felt the tip of his nose nuzzled in her hair. She rose to meet his gaze. He leaned in reluctantly, all but closing the gap that separated them. She felt her eyelids drift together until she saw naught but blackness, heard naught but water pounding against the tiles and their bodies, felt nothing but a tickle of breath against her lips. And then he pulled away, separating himself from her and scooting back into his corner. Her eyes snapped open. He could not bring himself to face her.

"What are you so afraid of?" she asked, although it came out more callous than she'd meant it to.

He neglected to regard her question. He opted to omit her wistful voice from his mind.

"Fuck, Carol, you don' deserve this!" he cried, swatting at the air. "You shouldn' hafta _settle_ for me, jus' 'cause I'm the only son of a bitch around who ain't got no one else."

"I don't understand-"

"Of course you do! I can't do _shit _for you. I can protect you an' feed you, but I can't _love_ you. I dunno how. I can't even _kiss _you."

The emotion that strangled his voice wrenched Carol's heart. But then a small smile spread across her lips. She took his chin gently in her hand. At first, he tried to flinch away from her touch. But then he relaxed.

"Yes, you can." She whispered, and his brow crinkled. "Try."

Seconds ticked by, occupied only by thought. Then he lunged forward and _kissed her_. Deeply—_passionately_, even. His tongue prodded at hers. She wondered if her mouth would be sore later. Even if it was, she wouldn't care.

She rolled over onto him, breaking their lips apart. She noticed something in his eyes she hadn't seen in a _long_ time—confidence. _Real _confidence: the kind that radiates through your skin.

"Not this time." He growled. Thus Carol found herself underneath him once more. And as they writhed together in the steam, only one word echoed through Carol's mind.

_Finally._

.:|:.

As swiftly as it had started, it was then over. They were a breathless heap, panting heavily in the vapor, the water rinsing the sweat from their faces and bodies. Daryl's hand was hot on her stomach. His head rested above her lungs. He listened to her hammering heartbeat. Felt her inhale and exhale. Carol stroked his hair, scrunching it in her fingers. At last she spoke.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Nah. Not really."

Still, he sounded unsure. She grinned. He didn't notice. He wasn't looking at her face. His mind was somewhere distant.

"Don't have a long history with the ladies, huh?"

Daryl's frame shook in mock laughter.

"Naw. Merle was the one bringin' home the women. Had a crush on this one girl when I was 'bout Carl's age, maybe a lil' older. Think I jus' liked her tits, though."

Carol's grin widened in amusement.

"What about mine?" she asked, poking his arm.

"Yeah. I like_ all_ of you."

Carol giggled, and like that they stayed for several more moments before she squirmed out from under Daryl's body. He moved over to allow her to escape.

"Wha's wrong?"

"Shouldn' stay much longer. Gonna come lookin' for us pretty soon. Wouldn't wanna be caught like this."

Daryl nodded in agreement. He helped her climb to her feet, her dainty frame still shaking like a leaf. She turned one final time before taking her leave.

"Hey," she whispered, settling her hand onto his chest. "Thank you."

"Wasn't nothin'." He insisted, shaking his head. She hesitated, not wanting to depart. Eventually she conjured the strength to tear herself away.

She threw her shirt over her head. Her pants proved slightly tricky to slip on, for her legs were still slightly wet, but she managed to slide into them. She rubbed the towel over her head wildly. Fortunately her hair was short and dried rather quickly. Then she bundled up a few more towels in her arms, leaving one for Daryl, and headed out into Cell Block C. If anyone asked, she was just doing laundry.

.:|:.

Dinner was wonderful. Even Daryl, who most of the time ate only to please Carol, went back for seconds, which made her beam. Few words were spoken over the course of their meal, apart from the obligatory praise ("This is fantastic, Carol. Really." and "This deer is a godsend, Daryl."), until Merle spoke up. Carol watched as Glenn's fingers tensed around his spoon. The hatred that blazed in the boy's eyes every time he even _thought _of Merle was astonishing.

"I was thinkin'…I been cooped up in there a mighty long time, an' I sure would like to stretch my legs s'more."

Rick swallowed a mouthful of warm broth and wiped his lips and chin with his sleeve.

"Are you suggesting we set you free?" was his curt reply. Merle confirmed the assumption with a nod. Glenn's disapproval was blatant as he stared intensely at Rick.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He resolved at last, and relief washed over Glenn's battered face. Merle's muscles tightened in anger. Carol snuck a glance at Daryl. He was on edge. Merle looked poised to lunge at Rick's throat. Any sudden movements would send Daryl's hand grasping for his knife. He wouldn't_ kill_ his brother, but he wasn't opposed to the idea of holding the blade at his throat should he try anything stupid. Then, Merle relaxed.

"Well, why the hell not? I'd be a good boy. Be on my best behavior, I would. Won't cause you a bit o' trouble. Daryl here'll make sure o' that."

_Damn straight I would._

But Daryl didn't say that. He didn't want to accidentally covey the message that he was vouching for Merle's release. He wasn't.

Rick shook his head.

"You understand you will _never_ be completely forgiven for what you did to Glenn, no matter what you do?"

Merle's eyes shifted uncomfortably.

"I do."

"And that we can never fully trust you, either?"

"I do."

Rick gave an exasperated sigh.

"We'll talk it over."

Then he scooted out from the table, the chair legs making obnoxious squeaks as they were dragged across the floor.

"Thank you for dinner, Carol, Daryl."

And the mention of those two names together made Merle's skin crawl.

.:|:.

The bowls had been scoured and everybody felt particularly lazy as they lounged around, letting the stew digest. Beth rubbed her stomach thoughtfully. It was swollen with venison, canned vegetables and salty broth. Carl twirled a bullet in between his fingers.

"You know what would be _really _nice for desert right now?"

Carl groaned, knowing the answer.

"I_ told_ you, Beth: I don't _have _any Snickers bars. But in about a week or so, we're gonna need more formula for Judy, so I'm gonna take Carol on a run. An' when I do, I'm gonna bring you back_ two_ Snickers bars."

"Two?" asked Beth, her brow wrinkled in confusion. "Why two?"

"One for being right," Carl explained, a ray of fading sunlight glinting off the metal bullet. "And one for being _extra _right."

"_Extra_ right?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"How so?"

Carl's gaze probed around the room, and then all the windows and doorways. Then he put the bullet in his pocket and ushered Beth closer.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked, his voice hushed. She nodded. He smirked.

"I saw them kissing. Just this morning, right after they got back."

Beth's eyes practically bulged out of her skull and she cupped a hand over her mouth to hide a wide, toothy grin.

"They didn't know I was there. I was kinda…_spying_. But Beth—you can't tell anyone, ever. If Daryl found out…" Carl gave a shudder, not needing to finish his statement. Beth understood.


	14. No Trouble At All

Carol stood back, admiring her work. Dozens of strips of venison hung over a sizzling fire while the sun simmered away overhead. She was grateful it wasn't another dreary day. The sky looked clear of thunderheads, but she was still on the lookout for the slightest hint of grey. The last thing she wanted was to be caught in a bout of rainfall. That would ruin any chance of jerky for sure.

Her gaze drifted towards two crosses in the distance. She used her hand to block the sunrays from her eyes. She'd already been over there, almost two weeks ago, to pay her respects to T-Dog and Lori, and to rip down the third monument. She didn't ask permission to do so. It was_ her_ grave, and she wasn't dead. Nobody had objected. They were _relieved _to see it gone. She'd noticed the rose, then. It was withered and soggy with rain but recognizable. She'd stroked the petals. They were browning at the edges. She'd wondered what Daryl's reaction had been when he thought she was dead; when he said goodbye to her. She'd never asked him. Figured if he wanted to talk about it, he would. But he didn't.

It's a funny thing, when you're thinking of someone or something and it suddenly makes an appearance, be it in conversation or perhaps even in front of you. Carol experienced that when she turned her head only to see Daryl strolling towards her, crossbow slung over his shoulder and gaze cast down at the cement. Carol smiled at him, though he didn't see.

"What's up?" she asked, breathing in the scent of smoking meat. Her mouth watered.

"Merle's out." he replied, spitting a glob of saliva bitterly into the grass. She stared at him, alarmed.

"What?!" she cried, furrowing her brow, her mouth hanging open. Daryl nodded dismally.

"Rick let him out, jus' a few minutes ago." He gestured towards the prison.

Carol placed her hands on her hips, not sure what to do. She had no say over the matter, but strongly opposed all the same.

"An' what do you think about this?

"I think it's a fuckin' _bad _idea is what I think." Daryl's voice hovered just below a yell. He clearly shared Carol's concerns. Neither one of them was fool enough to believe that Merle had given up his pursuit to "get his brother back", and neither one of them wanted to find out what doing so would entail. But Carol was distressed by how _accepting _Daryl sounded.

"Then why don't you say something? Rick'll listen to _you_!"

Daryl shooed her suggestion away.

"Nah. That ain't gonna help none. Rick's mind is made up. He wants t' give Merle a chance. What I say don' matter."

"But he's _your _brother. Youknow him better than anyone!" Carol's eyes were glistening with tears now. Emotion made her voice sound stretched. They would _never _get alone time together with Merle loose. _Never. _

"All I can do now's one thing: keep you safe an' away from him." He sighed. Suddenly both of their heads snapped in the direction behind them when they heard the side door slam closed. None other than Merle strode out, taking wide steps. After two weeks crunched in a cage, all he wanted to do was run. When he noticed Carol and Daryl standing particularly close to each other, his face lit up deviously.

"Well, well, well," he crowed, circling the two like a buzzard. Carol noticed a red shape in his hand, almost a sphere, but not quite. During their hunting trip, Daryl had spotted an apple tree. The fruit was sparse on its bare branches but they'd harvested what they could. They'd shared just one for breakfast on the third morning and instantly knew the fruits wouldn't be around long. They were sweet and succulent and simply _divine_. Carol wondered if Merle had been _given_ the apple or if he'd just snatched it himself. "Now how'd I know I'd find you two here?"

"Hey, watch it! This is_ your_ dinner too." Daryl growled in reply. Merle advanced and Carol found her discomfort level skyrocketing. He was within an arm's distance of her. The closest they'd ever been without a set of bars between them. If he wanted, he could reach out and shove her straight into that fire. End her life. What a way to die _that_ would be, given the circumstances of the world.

"Gotta admit, you did a damn nice job on this, lil' brother." Merle said. He took another bite out the apple. Carol noticed the terrible condition his teeth were in.

"Wasn't me. Carol thought all o' this up. I jus' helped build the foundation," Daryl replied, motioning towards the assembly of sticks where the venison hung.

"Ain't too shabby," Merle mused.

"I'm not_ quite _as useless as you seem to think."

Merle's gaze fell over Carol and she found herself yearning to disappear. She wished like hell she hadn't said anything. She felt as if she were under a huge shadow.

"You talkin' t' me, Peaches? 'Cause if you is, I'd watch my damned mouth!"

"Leave her the hell alone!" Daryl yelled, jumping in front of Merle to keep him from looming any closer to Carol. He stared his brother down. "You wanna find yourself back in that _birdcage_? Keep it up."

Merle laughed sardonically but held his hands up anyway. As much as he loved to mock those two, his baby brother had a point. Merle hadn't been a liberated man for even an hour. He wasn't ready to do something stupid and get himself locked up again. Not yet.

.:|:.

Maggie and Glenn rounded the corner to Cell Block C. They hadn't been spotted all morning, which wasn't very unusual. They frequently scurried off randomly into the dark, winding hallways with their blades hanging at their sides, not returning until several hours had elapsed. When they finally did make their way back, they were normally splattered with walker blood, glistening with sweat and holding hands.

It was good to get time away. At least, that's what Glenn had always replied with when questioned about their daily trips into the unexplored confines of the prison. Daryl had always been confused by that. Running around in the darkness cleaving walker skulls didn't really seem like 'time away'. But when he and Carol began pursuing their secret nighttime trysts, he suddenly understood. 'Time away' was Glenn's code for 'time together.' And by 'time together', he meant 'time together _alone_'.

The couple didn't necessarily have to be _screwing_ each other to enjoy their 'time away'. In fact, they often just _talked_. Chatted about things they couldn't converse about in front of the others, such as Rick's mental health, which had been deteriorating since Lori's death, or what the hell Andrea was doing. Daryl had informed them that he'd seen her at Woodbury. Stared her straight in the face, he claimed. She'd distracted the Governor for long enough for Daryl to slip his spare smoke bomb out of his back pocket. _'Bastards shoulda briefed me if they knew anythin' 'bout anythin'. Jus' my luck, they didn't.' _

But that particular day they'd been discussing Daryl and Carol, and the status of their relationship. They both found themselves in agreement: there was something else afoot between the two besides mere friendship.

"Have you seen the_ looks_ she gives him?" Maggie asked. She stopped in her tracks to cock her head and bat her eyelashes furiously. She hooked her pinky finger in her mouth, between her slightly parted lips. She laughed. Glenn rolled his eyes.

"She does _not_ look like that," he argued, but his lips were cracked into a tiny smile.

"Whatever," Maggie huffed, quickening her pace to catch up with Glenn. "I stand by my point."

"I didn't argue with your point."

"So you agree then?"

Glenn nodded. Maggie halted, leaning against the wall, and fished around in her bag for their water bottle. She unscrewed the cap and quenched her thirst. She held the bottle out to Glenn. He accepted it, taking only a small sip, saving most of it for Maggie. He handed it back to her.

"In fact, I don't just _think _so, I_ hope_ so." Glenn said, planting his back against the stone-cold wall and sliding down to sit with Maggie. "I mean, you never knew Ed, Carol's husband. And by the time you met Carol, well, most of her bruises had healed."

Maggie's face grew solemn when she realized what Glenn was hinting at. It was hard to imagine such a strong, lively woman like Carol in a position like that.

"She deserves a decent man in her life." He added. Maggie rested her head on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

"We should get going," she sighed, rising to her feet. She helped Glenn up. The two started down the corridor.

"It's just too bad about Merle," Glenn remarked suddenly, and Maggie noticed instantly the dreary tone Glenn's voice assumed. Remembering Ed had started it and thinking about Merle was maintaining it. She reached up, scratching the back of his neck, combing her fingers through his grimy black hair. The whole group had become completely unfazed by the constant presence of filth.

"I don't understand why he cares so much."

"You don't know Merle."

"But I'd want Beth to be happy, no matter what."

"Like I said," Glenn turned to face Maggie. "You don't know Merle. All he cares about is having Daryl's _complete_ loyalty. Nothing else matters."

The two navigated their way through the shadowy corridors without saying much else. All the talk about Merle had put a damper on Glenn's mood. Maggie's mind raced furiously for a solution to cheer him up.

"Think they've done it?" she asked. Glenn gave her a strange look.

"Carol and Daryl?"

She nodded. He laughed.

"Where would they even _go_? They haven't been in the guard tower, and Cell Block C echoes like hell."

Maggie shrugged, smirking coyly. She pointed ahead. There was a window looking into an empty room. There were some bloodstains on the walls. Some wreckage pushed into the corners. More importantly, there was a lantern in the center. She'd seen it before. It was Daryl's.

"There?"

.:|:.

Rick had called for a meeting. It seemed everyone was present except Daryl. He'd chosen to stay in the prison yard and tend to the meat, even though it didn't really_ need _tending. It was just an excuse to evade having to take part in the discussion. Carol swung her hips softly, cradling Judith in her arms. Glenn was akin to a pissed bull, ready to charge. Maggie's brow was furrowed and her arms were crossed.

"I understand what Merle did to Glenn was unjustified. However, I think Merle believed he had reason to do what he did. He wanted his little brother, and he was going to get him no matter what it took. That said, I_ don't_ think it's fair to continue keeping Merle in a cell."

There were no mumbles of agreement following Rick's words.

"I trust that as long as we don't treat him like an animal, he won't act like one. Isn't that right, Merle?"

Merle nodded.

"Ain't gonna give you no trouble, Officer Friendly," he promised, though he wasn't looking at Rick. His eyes were fixated on Carol in a way that made her squirm. "None at all."

.:|:.

The jerky wouldn't be ready for several more days, but the group ate nonetheless. Their dinner was not nearly as wonderful as it had been the previous evening, and random cans of fruit could scarcely be considered a "warm, comforting meal", but Carol had done a fine job rationing it and there was enough for everybody to have second helpings—except Daryl, of course. He didn't even finish his first serving. Let Carl polish off the rest of his can. Merle just glared. Generosity was fucking _ridiculous_ as far as he was concerned. Rick pretended not to notice. He just stared down into his tin and skewered a grape with his fork. He didn't bring the utensil to his lips.

"Kid's growin'," Daryl drawled, wiping the corners of his mouth with his rag. Carol had offered to wash it for him earlier and he would have declined if not for the fact that it was drenched in deer blood. He'd previously refrained from letting her take it. He was afraid it'd get lost or wrecked somehow. And that stupid strip of cloth was one of the only continual things in his life. But he'd decided that he could trust Carol with it and didn't regret it when it was returned to him a few hours later fresh and clean, smelling peculiarly of lemon dish soap. "Needs it more than I do."

.:|:.

Carol and Beth rinsed the forks and the insides of the cans. Soon, no trace of the thick, fruity syrup remained and the tins could be utilized as cups for water. That was a wrap to their post-supper dishwashing, and they were relieved of their duties particularly early that night. Having nothing else to do, Carol resolved to occupy her twitchy hands with a pencil and a pad of paper.

Carol had always loved any form of creation, but art and music were always her favorites. She'd paint for hours on end, every stroke of her brush filling in the details of a new universe, until she was so tired she'd accidentally take a sip of her paint water. Then Ed lost his job and Carol found herself working overtime at the local supermarket. Suddenly those hours of free time vanished. And when Sophia was born, it was officially over. She laid her stack of blank canvases to rest in the attic, tossed the brushes into a kitchen drawer, and threw the paints into the garbage can. But she never lost her yearning to craft, nor did she lose her knack for it.

The first few things she did were just random doodles: Baby Judith, Carl's sheriff's hat, a Cherokee rose. But other ideas soon trickled into her mind, and she found herself sketching the outlines of a room. Then she scribbled in a lantern, right in the center, and finally, in the upper left corner of the paper, a moon. Hopefully he would understand her request.

She made sure nobody was looking as she climbed the steps to Daryl's perch.

.:|:.

"So this's your crib, huh?"

The sudden raspy voice came as a surprise to Daryl, who was sharpening his knife in the corner of his perch. He glanced up at his older brother momentarily before bringing his gaze back down on his blade.

"Don' blame you for not wantin' to sleep in one o' them damned cages," Merle continued, picking through a pile of dirty clothes, mostly consisting of vests and other sleeveless shirts. "But I mus' say,'s a bit far away from Peaches, huh? 'S a wonder how you two get your fucking time in."

"Shut up," Daryl hissed, kicking Merle's hand away briskly. "Ain't never fucked Carol, or anyone else for tha' matter."

"Yeah, I know it," he grunted. "Can't even score you some damned leftovers."

Daryl bit down on his tongue. That wasn't what he'd meant. Merle had just failed to read between the lines. He'd meant there was a world of difference between _fucking _and what he'd done with Carol. Fucking was quick and rough. It was what Ed probably did to her. No feeling. No passion. Just in and out. And Daryl had sworn he'd never be Ed.

"The hell's this?"

Daryl looked up suddenly. Merle had found his poncho and wasn't sure what to make it. He just sort of held it out as far from his body as possible with his index finger and thumb, like it was infected with the plague.

"This your blankie, lil' brother?"

"'S pretty damn comfortable."

"You make this yourself?"

Daryl nodded, much to Merle's amusement.

"Should make yourself an apron next! Get you some pink fabric, the kind with the cupcakes on it." Merle cackled.

"Go to hell." Daryl spat.

"I'm on my way, baby brother, 'cause you's gonna be the death of me."

Suddenly Merle's attention switched and he dropped the poncho. Daryl lunged forward to keep it from sliding off the edge of the perch. Merle bent over and plucked a slip of paper from Daryl's crossbow. It was tucked in between the cables and strings. He smoothed it out, examining the vague drawing that consisted mostly of lines and squiggles. He raised an eyebrow at Daryl. Daryl fought the urge to raise one back. Where the hell had _that_ come from?

"You sure ain't much of an artist," Merle grumbled, releasing the paper so it floated down to rest by Daryl's foot. Merle hadn't the slightest what it'd meant. As far as he was concerned, his little brother had probably scribbled down some shit as a way to appease his boredom. But Daryl knew better, and he could read the message behind the illustration clear as day:

_Meet me in our room, tonight._


	15. Every Scar Has a Story

Daryl tried not to make a single sound as he crept down from his perch. He made his way past Merle's cell. His brother was breathing heavily, borderline snoring. He was asleep. Daryl tried to strain his vision to see if Carol was still in her cell. It was far too dark to tell.

The hallways were just black tunnels. His sense of direction was good enough, but he hoped Carol hadn't lost her way. He hadn't explored much further down and she was likely unarmed.

He found the entrance easy enough and was relieved when he noticed the glass window embedded in the wooden door held a soft, orangey glow. He wrapped his hand around the doorknob and, with a slight push, pushed it open. Carol looked up at him, a glass bottle lingering at her lips and a faint scent of alcohol in the air.

"Hello, dear," she smiled, taking a swig from the bottle. She resisted the urge to make a face at the overpowering, bitter flavor it harbored. "How was your day?"

"Jus' _swell_." he growled, receiving the bottle and savoring the strong taste. The whiskey burned a pleasant, hot trail down his throat and on his tongue. "Where the hell'd you get this?"

"I have my sources," she replied, albeit grimly. She hadn't expected Daryl to sound so pissed off, like asking him to spend some time with her was a chore. With Merle out and about, it was very unlikely they'd ever get moments alone again—at least not very many. She wanted to enjoy every minute she spent with him. She wouldn't be able to do that if he was going to act bitter. "What's wrong with you?'

"Hell, I dunno. Why don' you tell me?"

"I don't understand you, Daryl Dixon," she snipped, using his full name to underline her irritation in the way that a mother would. "You're sweet and loving to me one minute and the next you're a total asshole."

"Well, 'scuse me for havin' other shit goin' on! I know my own damned brother. He's only playin' nice now 'cause he's waitin' for his chance."

"To do _what?!_"

"I dunno! But it sure as hell ain't gonna be pleasant!"

Daryl took another swig from the bottle. He slumped against the wall, dropping the bottle, and then his head fell into his hands. He grasped at his hair, pulling it at the roots. The bottle lay idle at his foot, its contents pooling into a sticky, amber lake.

"Fuck, Carol, look at me! I'm acting like my goddamned _father_!" he cried, kicking the bottle away angrily.

"That's not true." Carol assured quietly, kneeling down beside him. The anger in her blue eyes had softened along with the curve of her eyebrows.

"You don' know shit about my daddy."

Carol nodded.

"You're right. I've never met your father. But I think I've seen him."

"So you's seein' ghosts now, huh? Well then, next time he shows up, you can deliver the message-"

Carol lunged forward so quickly Daryl scarcely had time to protest—or even finish his thought—before she had ripped the front of his shirt wide open, exposing his chest. The buttons on his shirt popped off and scattered across the room. She'd collect them and sew them back on for him later.

Daryl's flesh was covered in dozens of scars. Some were small and shallow, looking almost like scratches. Others were long and deep. One in particular reminded her of a winding river shown from a map. Daryl made to draw his shirt together but she laid her hand over his, stopping him promptly. He stared at her, mouth agape, not knowing what to say or do. She curled her fingers around his wrists and tenderly pulled them away.

_Fuck._

It was bound to happen sooner or later. He had _so many _scars, and some were _so _prominent. No doubt the entire prison was wondering how he'd gotten them. No doubt they were all too afraid to ask; too afraid of invoking painful memories, or upsetting him. But Carol wasn't. She pressed a warm palm against his chest.

"He did these to you, didn't he?" she asked soothingly, lightly tracing a rough, whitish gash extending across his ribs. He fidgeted uncomfortably at her touch. She'd crossed a lot of border since his return from Woodbury. Shattered every wall he'd ever put up. But he wasn't ready for _this_.

"Half of 'em are jus' from bein' a stupid kid." He groaned, numbly letting her run her fingers down his chest.

"But some of them aren't. Some of them_ are_ from him."

Daryl jerked away from her.

"I don' remember."

"Daryl, I have scars too. You don't just_ forget. _God knows I haven't."

Daryl said nothing for several moments while the gears in his mind whirred and clinked.

"…So this was your big plan, huh? Drag me out here an' get me t' talk 'bout my damned scars? Hate t' turn you down, but it ain't happenin'."

Carol's lips twitched into a subtle, warm smile. She smoothed her hand once more over his skin. Her palms felt so _silky_. A shiver bolted up his spine. It was a simple, chaste contact. But it was moments like those that he found himself aching for most. He cherished those little minutes together; the ones that were filled with nothing but unspoken words and silent understanding. He craved them more than anything. She had a mother's touch, he'd decided. Mothers meant comfort. Or so he'd always assumed.

"Trust me." she whispered. She splayed her fingers, each digit feeling a different scar. A sound escaped his lips, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, and he wriggled away from her.

"Turn that damned light off," he ordered, stripping away his shirt and flinging it away. Carol wasn't sure what he had in mind, so she simply stared at him instead.

"If we're doin' this, we're doin' it _my way_, you hear? Now turn that fuckin' light off."

Carol obeyed, reaching over and twisting the knob on the lantern. The bright light dimmed and then disappeared entirely, plunging them into blackness. It came bit of a shock to her when Daryl harshly grabbed her wrist and pulled her down on him. Her first thought was that it was an invitation of sorts. But Daryl didn't have sex on his mind at all.

"If you wanna know about 'em, fine. But I don' want you _lookin' _at 'em while I'm talkin'. I ain't no exhibit. Okay?"

Carol nodded even though she knew he couldn't see. Daryl rarely asked things for himself. His terms were simple enough. She could agree to them.

"Okay."

"Alright. Now that we got that sorted out…"

Daryl still had her wrist in his grip. Her bones were so delicate. It was scary to know that he could crack those bones with a single firm squeeze and a swift twist. He was certainly strong enough.

He guided her hand across his chest. He knew every single scar and its companioning story by heart. Most of them had faded. The memories hadn't. They were burned into his mind: vivid and terrible.

"This one…" he trailed off once more, pausing to run her finger down the length of it. She could barely feel it, but knew it was there all the same. "I got it from fallin' outta a tree when I was seven. What a fuckin' stupid-ass thing t' do. I knew I couldn't climb that thing. Was way too tall. Lotsa scratchy branches. Wasn't no good at tree-climbin' anyway. But I did, jus' to be stubborn."

"Did you break anything?"

"Jus' my ego." he smirked. She resisted a laugh. It must've hurt something awful. What a dreadful thing for a seven-year-old to endure.

"This one's another good story," he said, a hint of tragic amusement in his voice. The scar he had directed her finger to was circular, scarcely noticeable to anyone but him. "An' another example of me bein' a dumbass. Was about seventeen. Got into a fight with some punks. They was bigger and stronger than me. Didn' matter. Fought 'em anyway. I was outnumbered, and a scrawny thing to boot. Two of 'em held me down while their lil' friend snuffed his goddamned _cigarette_ out on my chest."

"That's horrible."

"Naw. I was actin' like a cocky lil' prick. Deserved it."

_Nobody deserves that. _Carol thought, but the words stayed confined to her mind for some odd reason.

"Then I got this one on my side from gettin' stabbed by one of my own arrows."

That scar was fresh and rigid under the pad of her finger. She remembered that evening well: the evening he'd instilled false hope into her—false hope that had carried her for _miles_.

But Carol wasn't interested in discussing his mistakes and mishaps, and Daryl was strategically evading what she _did_ want to discuss.

"Daryl, just tell me about the lashings. _Please_."

She phrased her request so that he _couldn't_ escape answering it.

Carol's abrupt, point-blank demand took Daryl by surprise. He hadn't expected her to ask so…_bluntly_. He took a deep breath. He dreaded the thought of having to relive those memories. And no matter what, he didn't want her feeling _sorry _for him, like he was some kind of pathetic dog locked up in the pound.

"You first," he grunted.

Carol sighed. He was shunning the topic once more. But if sharing her own horror story of abuse was what it would take to make Daryl comfortable enough to loosen up, she'd hesitantly oblige.

"The first time Ed ever…_did anything _to me was on the night of our honeymoon. It wasn't much of a vacation. Neither of us had much spare money. But I managed to scramble up enough savings to get us into a nice little cottage in the backwoods of Wisconsin. It was very…_isolated_, to say the least." She paused. Her eyes were becoming increasingly glassy with tears. "It was our _first time_ together. We'd never done anything more than a kiss. I thought that he was just being rough. I asked him to slow down, but he…he _wouldn't_. Then he started grabbing my hair and_ pulling _it. I _begged_ him to stop, I did, but he wouldn't listen. Eventually I was _crying_. The next morning, the marks on my back were _still_ red…my arms were _bruised_…it was…it was _awful_."

She took a moment to recollect herself. She blinked back all her tears, and gathered her strength once more.

"Your turn."

This time, Daryl was ready.

"I was jus' a little thing. Maybe eight or nine. My daddy came home late, drunk outta his mind an' reekin' like the bar. Dunno how it happened exactly. Was in my bed, hidin' under my covers. My door jus'…_burst open_…and my daddy stormed in, this wild look in his eyes, and started whippin' me with his belt. No rhyme or reason. Merle…he tried to protect me. Lashed 'im in the face, my daddy did. By the time he was all done, I was screamin' an' bloody, like the day I was born. Then he jus' went to bed."

Carol cradled his face in her hands. His stubble was rough and ragged.

"Oh my god, Daryl,"

Suddenly, he pulled away and fumbled around for his shirt. Carol sat up, wondering what she'd said that had set him off.

"You're_ leaving_?"

"Gotta get back. Don' want nobody wakin' up an' lookin' for us."

"Nobody ever has before." She replied briskly.

"I'm tired as hell."

She huffed. He didn't sound tired at all. He sounded pissed off.

"Daryl?"

He turned to face her one final time.

"Sometimes I dream about him. _Ed_. But maybe, after tonight, I won't anymore." She smiled, though it was dim and weak and didn't quite stretch to her eyes. By that time her vision had fully adjusted and she noticed his dark silhouette nod.

"An' if you do…you know where t' find me."

And that thought alone reassured her enough to carry her through a peaceful, serene slumber.

.:|:.

When Carol awoke, light glinted off the bars of her cell. The sun had risen high, past the bushy treetops and into the cloudless, languid blue. She rolled over with a soft yawn, stretching her arms and arching her back. Sleeping on the hard prison mattress always made her muscles quite tense and achy in the morning. That's when she noticed Merle's creased face leering at her from his neighboring cell. The shock of seeing him there sent her hands snatching at her blankets so she could pull them up and cover herself. She was, after all, wearing nothing but a loose-fitting pair of pants and a moth-ravaged purple tank top. No bra underneath or anything. One rarely should have to worry about their attire being proper when all they're doing is sleeping—unless, of course, one sleeps next to Merle Dixon.

"Rise and shine, Peaches. You been snorin' away for hours now! Was startin' t' think you was dead." Merle chuckled, wrapping a piece of twine his finger and the unwrapping it again. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed with a troubling gleam in his eye.

"What time is it?" she asked as she slid out of her wool blankets, sifting through her clothing pile for something more decent to slip on.

"Well, Goldie's fixin' lunch."

Carol had already pulled on her green shrug and flung the door of her cell wide open when she realized she felt _awful_. Her forehead was hot and there was a sour taste on the back of her tongue. She was parched, yet her stomach heaved at the thought of food.

"Where's Glenn?"

She wished there were someone else around to ask besides Merle.

"I'm right here. What's wrong?"

Glenn and Maggie had just returned from their customary trip into the shadowy, uncharted regions of the prison. Carol whirled around to face him just as the couple split away from each other. Maggie ran to their cell to put their blades up. Glenn advanced towards Carol.

"I don't feel so hot. Do we have any Tylenol?"

Glenn's eyebrows knit together in concern.

"I'm not sure," he replied, shaking his head. "I can check. If not, Rick, Carl and Daryl are cleaning out the infirmary right now. You go take a shower. I'll handle everything else."

Carol thanked him. She would have thrown her arms around him in an embrace if not for the fact that she didn't want to spread her virus to anyone else. She couldn't risk letting whatever she'd come down tear through the rest of the group like wildfire. God forbid Judith caught it.

She headed for the bathroom. It wasn't the prison's designated showering system. _That _was essentially a large, empty room full of spouts and drains. There was no privacy, and it unnerved her like hell. Nobody used it. Instead, they opted to utilize the staff bathroom.

It was a significantly smaller room. The door, marked with an "employees only" sign, had previously been locked and the keys hung on rings the guards wore on their belts. There were two toilet stalls, two showers stalls, and two sinks.

Carol stripped away her clothing. Her skin was slick with sweat. She turned the showerhead nozzle to "hot" so that the water ran cold. She had been so eager to jump in and wash away the nauseating feeling of illness that she forgot to lock the bathroom door behind her.

She bathed like normal. Eventually she adjusted the temperature of the water to be a bit warmer. Fond memories of the events that had taken place in that very stall replayed in her mind as she lathered her hair with shampoo and rinsed away the oil, dirt and dead skin cells. When she was done, she patted herself dry and wrapped the towel around her body while she brushed her teeth with the same toothpaste she'd been using for the last year. Teeth-brushing was a task rarely accomplished and toothpaste was always plentiful.

Just as she leaned over the sink to spit, the bathroom door opened with an eerie creak behind her. The mirrors were fogged up with steam. She turned eagerly in the vacant hope that it would be Daryl with her Tylenol. It wasn't. It was Merle.

She nearly spat the minty foam out all over the floor. She made sure her towel was tight around her frame as her eyes flickered around for an escape route.

_Shit._

"Well, I'll be damned, Peaches. You's got a nicer body than I thought."

"What do you need, Merle?" she snapped, trying to appear strong and unfazed. On the inside, she was panicking.

"You don' need to get all up in arms, Dollface. I ain't hurtin' you."

"That wasn't my question."

Merle chuckled.

"I been thinkin' 'bout you an' my brother. An' I've decided that if you twos are delusional enough to think you're in love, ain't nothin' I can do 'bout that." He took a broad stride towards her. She took a broad one back.

"_But_…" he took yet another step closer. "Maybe you ain't makin' the right decision."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

If Carol had brought a gun along, she would have had it cocked in front of her and ready to fire.

"Alls I'm sayin' is that there ain't jus' one Dixon available here no more. Maybe you oughta try us both out 'fore you make a decision."

He closed in on her, like a predator cornering its prey, and soon her back was pressed securely against the wall.

"Come on, Peaches," he drawled, his voice like venom. "What harm can it do?"

He lunged. Carol shrieked. Her hand dove out, but what use could it be against him? He was five times stronger than her, and he blocked her desperate cries with his filthy mouth against hers in a violent, jaw-breaking kiss. So she did the only thing she could do: she returned it. She kissed him back. Then she bit his goddamned tongue, and the sound of that bastard yelping like a dog was music to her ears.


	16. Old Red Rag

_Sorry guys, this one took _forever _to write. Anyway, enjoy! :) _

Glenn was rummaging through the bag of medical supplies, searching frantically for Tylenol. Finally he found what he was looking for. The little red label gave it away immediately. He gave the bottle a swift shake. There wasn't much left. Maggie wandered over, holding out her hand.

"Hand 'em here, I'll give 'em to her."

Glenn had just passed the medicine to Maggie when Carol's pleas for help tore through the prison. Maggie dropped the Tylenol, pills scattering across the floor, and they took off without a moment of hesitation.

.:|:.

Hershel and Beth were tending to Judith in the dining room. Beth had the baby swaddled in a blue blanket and tucked into the nook of her arm. Judy drank her formula ravenously; greedily. Every once and a while they would have to lift the bottle away for a few seconds so that she wouldn't choke herself. Beth's blue eyes were big and hopeful as she stared down at the little bundle of innocence in her arms. _Everyone _in the prison was smitten with Judith.

Suddenly, all three of them snapped to attention when shrieking ignited, muffled by distance. The voice was distinctly Carol's: full of terror and desperation, yes, but Carol's. Judith stopped feeding. Even babies know when something is very wrong. She began fussing. Beth restrained herself from panicking, handing the baby off to her father.

"Where's Axel?" Hershel asked he took Judith into his arms.

"I don't know!" Beth cried, her hand diving for the gun resting at her hip. She checked the cylinder of her revolver. Two of the six chambers were loaded. She glanced up at Hershel one last time, eyebrows bent high in worry, asking silently for support. He nodded. She took off.

.:|:.

Merle's knees buckled when he felt Carol's teeth sink into the soft, tender flesh of his tongue. He growled and spat a mouthful of blood out onto the wet bathroom floor. He wiped a blotch of crimson from the corner of his lip. The intense hatred and disgust flaming in his eyes nearly rooted Carol to her spot against the wall.

"Fucking _bitch_!" he snarled. He staggered forward and swung his fist, aiming for her face. She ducked in the nick of time. His hand gave a mighty crunch when it connected with the hard, solid wall. Then the bathroom door burst open. Glenn rushed in. Merle was doubled over, knuckles split open and howling in agony. Carol was crunched in a corner wearing naught but a towel. That was all the motivation Glenn needed to attack.

Glenn Rhee wasn't very large or tough. He'd been wielding around heavy firearms long enough to develop a bit of firmness to his arms, but other than that, he just wasn't built for hand-to-hand combat. It didn't stop him from trying, though, and before anyone could react, a full-out assault had begun.

It started with a blow to the side of Merle's face. Carol's breath hitched in her throat. His only good hand crippled with pain, Merle had no means of defending himself. Knocked off his center of balance, he slumped to the floor, allowing the cool tile to appease the throbbing in his sore cheek. But Glenn wasn't done, and the sound of his fist connecting with Merle's face echoed through the prison for several more minutes of utter chaos.

Hershel appeared in the doorway, and Beth buried her head in her shirt, terrified. Nobody had ever seen Glenn act so ruthlessly towards another human being. Maggie cradled Carol in her arms, doing her best to comfort the traumatized woman. Carol watched wordlessly, remembering the day back at the quarry when Shane near ripped Ed's face off after her now-dead husband had struck her across her face. He'd clouted her so hard she'd nursed a sore, split lip for days. Afterwards, she'd _nurtured_ the pathetic bastard and _apologized_ for what had happened. She'd been tricked into feeling sorry for a person who'd done nothing but hurt her. She wouldn't make that mistake again. So when Merle coughed up his own teeth, there was not a trace of pity in her body.

.:|:.

Carol was curled up in her bed, pale face devoid of emotion. She just clutched her knees and stared into the distance, torn between wishing Daryl would return and wishing he wouldn't.

It wasn't long before she found herself in the grip of drowsiness. Her eyelids felt like lead and she had to fight to keep them open. Her pillow, once flat and shapeless, suddenly seemed very inviting. Her normally itchy blanket lost its unpleasantness and all the lumps in the mattress faded away. She was powerless as the tides of a dreamless sleep swept her away. Hours later, she awoke to someone jostling her softly and whispering her name in her ear.

She cracked her eyes open only to see the fuzzy outline of a face. She recognized the blurry features and hazy silhouette of shaggy, dark hair. Her lips parted slightly yet no sound escaped. She was parched and her mouth was dry as a bone. Daryl pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

"Fuck, you're burnin' up, ain't you?"

Carol nodded meekly, the blanket sticking to her sweat-slicked body. He tugged the heavy wool cover back a bit to make her comfortable.

"Broughtcha a glass o' water an' some Tylenol," he said and offered her a black mug, chipped around the rim. She received it gratefully, propping herself up against the wall. He extended his hand and uncurled his fingers to reveal two white capsules nestled in his palm. She laid them on her tongue, took a sip of water and swallowed promptly, instantly relieved of her thirst. She passed him the mug and he set it down by his foot.

"Glenn and Maggie told me what happened."

Carol sighed and titled her head back, eyelids drifting shut, but the sensation of his fingers suddenly closing around her own pulled her out of her dazed state.

"Carol, I'm_ so_ sorry. I shoulda been here t'-"

"Don't." Carol cut him off briskly, startled by how weak and miserable her voice sounded. "Don't blame yourself. This wasn't your fault."

Daryl nodded, though he looked unconvinced. Suddenly he reached back, drawing his red rag out from his pocket, and knelt down. Hershel had requested for Daryl to take a basin of water to her bedside and lay a damp, cool rag on her forehead. Originally he'd been given one of the prison's tattered washcloths, but he'd opted not to use it.

He dipped his rag into the crisp, clear water, swishing around a bit to ensure it was soaked completely before wringing it out. He draped it gently over her forehead. Little beads of water formed in her brows. She smiled.

"Ain't ever told you how I got this damned thing, huh?"

She shook her head softly.

"Well, it ain't that great of a story." he drawled, his eyes suddenly becoming vacant as he gazed off into a memory. "But hell, I guess I'll tell you anyways: when my mama died, my daddy didn' want her stuff hangin' 'round their bedroom. He got real depressed, y'know, an' he didn' like lookin' at it. Merle was away, so I was the one stuck with havin' to pack up all her stuff and sell it. So one day, I was goin' through a box in her closet, an' there was this red t-shirt tucked away in the bottom. An' it was real dusty, y'know, so I accidentally sneezed all over it. I figured it weren't fit to sell no more, so I threw it out. But 'fore I did…I cut it up an' kept that piece."

Carol reached up weakly and used a finger to stroke the damp fabric. She blinked away tears, knowing Daryl would hate to see her cry; hate to think she was feeling sorry for him. But the truth was that she _did _feel sorry for him. She couldn't _begin_ to imagine the pain he'd endured, and at such a tender, young age. Still, she swallowed her sympathies.

"Guess it was sorta like a security blanket for a while. Used to smell like 'er, too: cigarettes an' wine." He chuckled grimly. "Now it jus' smells like lemony shit."

"Sorry."

"Nah," he shook his head sadly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Smells like you now."

.:|:.

Merle had been relocated to his old cell, the one far away from Daryl's perch and, more importantly, Carol. The sun was going down, casting orange strips of light across the prison, when Daryl approached Merle's cell, the keys at his side jingling.

"Well, lil' brother, 's about time you-"

"Shut up." Daryl snapped, inserting the key into the lock and turning it swiftly. He cracked open the door, just enough to slip inside, and shot a look of death upon Merle, who seemed to shrink under the venomous glare.

"Come on, Daryl. You don' _really _think I'd-"

Merle's sentence was severed abruptly by Daryl's fist slamming into his already-sore jaw.

"I told you to _shut the hell up_," he growled, looming over his brother. "An' stay away from Carol."


	17. Dixons Don't Like Girls

_All around him, children played. The boys raced back and forth, yelling and laughing giddily, while the girls sought shade under a sprawling oak, chatting and giggling about things only they understood. Daryl sat alone on a swing, grasping the chains with sweaty hands. His legs were short so his feet dangled limply above the dirt. The hot summer sun beat mercilessly down on his back. He brooded as he gazed down at the ground._

_Suddenly he found himself staring at a pair of pink shoes, little flower emblems stitched into the straps. The wearer had bony ankles and scrawny legs. Daryl's eyes wandered up and he felt his stomach drop. _

"_Hello!" _

_Her greeting was cheerful and Daryl could feel himself growing increasingly uncomfortable in her presence. _

_Valerie Rivera was a tall, skinny third-grader and classmate of Daryl's. Her golden curls tumbled down her shoulders and bounced profoundly when she walked. She had vivid green eyes and thick, dark lashes. Her father, Richard Rivera, was a dentist, thus she had two rows of perfect, blindingly white teeth. She flaunted them by smiling constantly. _

"_Hi," he mumbled, casting his eyes down at the dirt once more. He had an _enormous_ crush on Valerie, but he would never admit it to anyone, including himself. That didn't stop him, though, from glowing brilliant pink every time she spoke to him._

"_You weren't here yesterday. Charlie said it was 'cause you were sick."_

"_Charlie don't know nothin' 'bout me!" Daryl snapped, his hand instinctively rushing up to brush against his chest. His fingers hovered above the area where his daddy had lashed him the night before. The cuts had stopped bleeding shortly after Merle had cleaned them, but he was bruised something awful. The scarcest stimulation triggered intense pain. The wounds were agitated even by the fabric of his shirt._

_Valerie frowned, and Daryl _almost _regretted his harsh tone of voice. _

"_Then why weren't you here?" she asked, her brow furrowed in worry. Daryl gulped as he frantically tried to muster an excuse. "Did you get hurt?"_

"_I felled off my bike an' now it's broke," he lied. She cocked her head, suddenly grinning._

"_I think I know what'll make you feel better!" _

_Daryl glanced up at her, unconvinced._

"_What?" _

_She proceeded to close her eyes and pucker her lips. She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping he'd grant her request. Instead he just scowled._

"_No way. You got _cooties_."_

_Her eyes snapped open and she glowered at him. _

"_Do not!" she defended, promptly folding her arms. She stamped her foot to highlight her exasperation. _

"_Do to." _

_Her stubborn demeanor broke in a bout of frustration._

"_Why don't you like me?" she cried, visibly distressed. She was a sensitive girl, Valerie, despite her mulish disposition, and wasn't taking well to her first rejection._

"'_Cause. I'm a Dixon and we don't like girls." He reasoned, much to her dissatisfaction. She placed a hand on her hip._

"_Nuh-uh. Your daddy likes your mama." _

"_My mama's dead." _

_Valerie's face dropped and her cheeks blushed red. Only one tiny word could escape her lips:_

"_Oh." _

_Daryl hopped off the swing. _

"_An' even when she weren't, he _still _didn't like her!" he hissed, staring square into those marvelous emerald eyes, though she avoided bringing them up to meet his face. Then he stormed off, kicking up sand and weeds, leaving her to quietly sob. He struggled to blink back tears of his own. _

.:|:.

"You _need_ to eat something," he insisted, holding out three strips of thick venison jerky. "_Come on_."

Carol shook her head, pushing his hand away.

"Don't have an appetite. Especially not for dried up meat." She replied. The way she'd folded herself up in her blanket reminded Daryl of a caterpillar nestled snugly into a cocoon. He sighed.

"You gotta keep your strength up. But if you don' wanna eat none o' this, I guess I'm gonna hafta make you somethin' else."

He turned to leave but Carol's arm shot out. She caught a handful of his shirt and twisted the fabric, yanking him back.

"Don't worry about me, Daryl," she said, and he eyed her unsurely. "I'm fine. _Really_."

She gave him a weary smile and before releasing her grasp and letting her arm drape limply over the side of the bed. He grunted some response that fell short of reaching her ears before slipping away to join the others. It was a matter of minutes before Carol fell back asleep.

.:|:.

There was a warm hand on her shoulder. Someone was shaking her gently into awareness. Her eyelids were heavy and sore but she forced them open regardless, hoping foolishly to see Daryl hovering over her again. Instead, it was Carl. He smiled at her.

"How do you feel?" he asked, watching closely as Carol shifted around in her bed. She removed Daryl's rag from her forehead, letting it fall into the tub of water at her bedside with a splash, and then scooted around for quite a while, trying to find a comfortable position. The stiff mattress had wreaked havoc upon her spine and a dull, throbbing ache had already settled into her neck.

"Fine." She replied before yawning. She had opted to sit upright. The blanket was bunched up at her knees. Her t-shirt, once loose-fitting, was plastered to her skin. Her palms were slick and a bitter taste overpowered her mouth, but otherwise, her condition had vastly improved. She was even a bit hungry—and in luck, too, because Carl had brought her dinner.

"Here," he said, holding out a pink bowl. The handle of a plastic spoon jutted out above the rim. She received it gratefully and peered down at the content: thin, watery oatmeal, topped with canned peaches and honey. Despite the sogginess of the oats, it smelled wonderful to a famished belly. "Daryl made it, but it was Beth's idea to add the peaches and honey."

"Tell them both 'thank you'."

Carl nodded and slid his hands in his pockets while Carol silently wolfed down her meal. For some reason, she began to grow uneasy at Carl's lingering. She wondered if there was something the boy was debating telling her. She watched him closely as he shuffled towards the doorway of her cell, gazing down at the floor, which was dirty, riddled with cracks, and far too uninteresting to be staring at. Then he swiftly spun on his heel.

"Hey, Carol? I was thinking we could go on a run as soon as you're better. Judith needs more formula, and I kind of owe Beth something."

Carol swallowed a mouthful of peach before answering.

"As soon as I feel up to it." She promised with a smile. Carl looked strangely pleased and relieved, as if he'd been expecting her to refuse. Then her smile transformed into a smirk. "What do you owe Beth?"

Carl seemed taken aback by the question. His mouth just sort of hung open. All words died before they could breech his lips.

"Oh…it's nothing, really. We just had a bet going on. That's all."

Carol cocked an eyebrow. Something about Carl's tentativeness over discussing a mere bet didn't indicate he was being wholly truthful.His eyes darted around the room. He was checking for unwelcome listeners. Finally, he spilled. At first he was hesitant, but then it all came crashing out at once. Carol's mind whirred to process overlapping sentences.

He started with how he and Beth had taken note and how strange Carol had acted around Daryl after he'd returned from Woodbury with Merle in tow. He told her of how Beth had guessed it was because she and Daryl were secretly in love. Then he took a deep breath and explained how he'd come to the conclusion that Beth was right.

_Okay people, that's a wrap to our shortest chapter ever. But I swear I can explain. My computer is messed up big time. Like, biiiig time. Every time I try press a key, my mouse goes insane. I literally cannot write one word. I shit you not. Luckily, I enabled an on-screen keyboard and finished this chapter, but clicking every single letter of every single word is tedious as hell. Plus it cramps your finger. Until I get this figured out, I'm going to have to put this story on hiatus. As soon as I get the problem resolved, I will write an amazing chapter to make up for everything, so don't give up on me yet. Until then, I'm sincerely sorry! :( _


	18. Don't Tell Anyone

_I know I promised a long, awesome chapter. I know. Please don't lynch my yet. I can explain. _

_The computer was full of viruses. The malware screwed with the keyboard, went idle, and then shut the whole thing down. We took it in, but there's nothing they can do but salvage the hard drive, which leaves us with one working computer. And one computer and four people is a bad, bad mix. The ONLY way I am going to be able to update this is if the chapters are very short. I can't save any documents because this is my MOM's computer. MY MOM. I'm hoping to wrap this story up soon. When we get a new laptop, I will begin a new story. I'm already compiling ideas. It's going to be a lot better than this one. Until then, I'll update when I can, and as always, enjoy! _

Carol stared at him. She meant to say something, but words seemed confined to her lips. Carl began to feel regret creeping up into his bones. He shouldn't have said anything, but the pressure of keeping that particular secret was weighing heavy on his shoulders. He'd seen a thousand times how Maggie would latch onto Glenn's waist and whisper something in his ear; how Glenn's eyes would light up and he'd whisper something back. Then they'd both smile and stand there, sharing each other's warmth and the shade of contentment and comfort displayed upon their faces was one Carl could only describe as love. It was a brief escape from the harsh reality of the cold world they lived in. Carl didn't know much about love, but he knew that there was nothing Carol and Daryl deserved more.

Finally, Carol gave a sigh. Her eyes softened and she reached out, taking Carl's hand in hers. She grinned weakly. She didn't want Carl to think he'd done something wrong; didn't want him to feel remorseful. Still, her stomach twisted into a knot.

"You and Beth are the _only_ ones that know?" she asked.

Carl nodded in response.

"And you _swear _you won't tell anyone else?"

"I swear. You can trust me."

Carol's stomach settled and she exhaled deeply. Carl's reply was mature; _reliable_. He was growing rapidly into a young man, both physically and mentally. Carol wondered what Sophia would have been like, were she alive. She'd always imagined her strong and beautiful. Her hair would've darkened with age and lengthened with time. She would've been taller. Maybe she'd even have hovered above Carl for a short while. Her body would begin to mold into that of a woman's. But such things were useless to think about. They inflicted only tears and sorrow.

Heavy footsteps broke both Carol and Carl away from their respective thoughts. Their attentions switched; their heads turned towards the doorway, only to see Daryl enter the cell, a squirming Judith in his arms. He glanced up from the fussing baby, his eyes falling over Carl.

"Hey squirt, why don' you take your sister an' give us a minute?"

Daryl transferred Judith to Carl, the boy's arms shifting to support her head and bottom. Then he left, cooing to his little sibling softly in an attempt to pacify her. Daryl watched until Carl was out of sight and Judith's cries but a murmur in the distance.

"How're you feelin'?" he asked, kneeling by the side of her bed and testing her temperature with the back of his hand. She seemed cool enough, and her skin was no longer clammy. The redness in her eyes had diminished. He noticed she'd polished off her supper, too, so her reply came as no surprise.

"Better. I feel much, much better."

"Well, Merle ain't. Think he's comin' down with what you had." Daryl's voice seemed tinted with amusement.

"Serves him right." she muttered.

Daryl chuckled, a little smile tugging at his lips. She _never_ used to see him smile. At first it was strange. His features were always dark, or always seemed that way. But smiling changed that. Just that little display of teeth made all the difference. He was so very, very beautiful when he smiled. She wondered how he'd react if she ever told him that.

"Rick wants t' move 'im to Cell Block D." Daryl said suddenly. "Merle, I mean. We're gonna start clearin' in the mornin'."

Carol's face brightened. Relocating Merle to Cell Block D was, to her, the best idea Rick had conjured up in ages. She wouldn't be the only one feeling much safer. If she weren't in the recovering stages of illness, she would have leaned in and kissed Daryl right then and there, just out of sheer relief. Then she remembered the conversation she'd had with Carl mere moments prior. She peered past Daryl, scanning for anyone nearby. She could hear two voices in the distance—Rick and Glenn, probably—engaging in a muffled conversation.

"Carl…" she whispered, turning back to Daryl, holding him tight in her gaze; catching his full attention. "He knows."

Daryl's brow furrowed.

"The hell's that supposed t' mean?"

"The day we got back from hunting…the day you gave me _this_…" her fingers drifted up to stroke the garnet stone at her chest. "Carl saw _me _kiss _you_…an' he told Beth."

Daryl's head dropped. He tugged at the roots of his hair, disheveling it further. Carol seized his face in her hand, catching him under the chin, and lifted gently so his eyes met hers. His stubble was rough. Like sandpaper, almost.

"It's alright. I had a talk with him." she assured. "He swears he won't tell anyone else. I trust him."

Daryl rose to his feet, leaving Carol's arm suspended in the air.

"Ain't Carl I'm worried 'bout. It's that girl who can't keep her damned mouth shut."


	19. Why?

A streak of red was smeared across the skyline: a beacon of morning. The sun quivered up above the trees and cast tinted light into the prison. Beth travelled the length of the Cell Block, her tousled blond hair glowing pink in the rays of dawn. Through shadows she passed until she heard distant muttering and knew she'd almost reached her destination.

She made a turn. Rick and Maggie stood at the end of the hall in a corner where the sun's rays failed to reach. She quickened her pace. Their voices dropped. Maggie approached.

"Do you _need_ something? We're busy." she hissed, blocking her little sister from advancing any further. Beth glanced over at Rick. He was tapping his foot impatiently. A piece of paper was folded up in his hand. She'd caught sight of him studying it closely the night before. The lantern he'd used had been functioning off the dregs of propane.

"I want to talk to you. _Alone_."

Maggie sighed. She'd already arranged other plans, and time was ticking. Rick would wait for her, but he wouldn't wait forever. Still, he excused the two girls, telling them he needed to go find Daryl. He figured Beth probably had private issues of the feminine sort.

"Okay, but make this fast. I don't have long."

Beth scrunched her brow.

"What are you doing?"

"_Never mind_. Just talk." Maggie snipped, shooing her sister's question away.

"Oh, right. Well, uhm…you love Glenn, right?"

Maggie narrowed her eyes. She hadn't the slightest clue where Beth was planning to take the conversation. She hesitantly confirmed with a nod.

"Well, would you believe me if I told you that maybe you and Glenn aren't the _only _couple in this prison?"

Maggie's lips bent into a sly smile.

"This is about Carl, isn't it?"

Beth's cheeks suddenly blazed crimson, much to her older sister's amusement.

"Shut_ up_!" she scolded, though she couldn't contain a tiny grin. She _did_ like Carl. He was much younger, yes, and several inches shorter, but he was mature and responsible and every small and stupid joke he made seemed to usher a giggle from her. But then she reminded herself why she wanted to talk to Maggie in the first place, and swallowed her laughter. "It's about Carol. And Daryl. And how Carl _may _have seen them…_kissing_."

Maggie's gaze fell and she nodded stiffly.

"Yeah. I know. I think _everyone _knows. I mean, we've mostly-"

Her sentence was severed by Rick's voice. It ripped across the Cell Block and bounced off every wall. He was calling for Maggie. She gave Beth an assuring squeeze on the shoulder in the typical sisterly fashion.

"Thanks for telling me."

.:|:.

Five minutes. She had five minutes. She was doubtful that it would be long enough to spill out everything she needed to say. The door clicked gently closed behind her. It would have to be.

They were in some sort of room. It wasn't a cell. That was for sure. Right now, it was just a place to store Merle while they transferred his belongings to his new home in Cell Block D. It was empty of furniture and the walls were barren. There was no notion of its previous purpose.

Merle looked up. He was slumped into a corner. A strip of light poured in from the window and stretched across his slouched figure. He was exhausted. His eyelids drooped. But for Maggie, he'd hold them open. She was a pretty thing. Young, too, with electric eyes and plenty of hair. She was the polar opposite of Carol, in his opinion. Maggie wielded a machete. Carol wielded a kitchen knife. Maggie sliced through walkers. Carol sliced through carrots.

"Well, 's about damn time you showed up. I was wonderin' when you'd come around…" Merle drawled. He moved his eyes over her figure, and his stare settled on her chest. She noticed.

She slowly drew her gun from the back of her pants. The glint of the metal caught Merle's attention and suddenly his gaze was no longer fixed on her breasts. She held the firearm in front of her, letting him get a good, long look.

"If you try anything, an' I mean _anything_, I have permission to shoot you." She warned, and he nodded gravely in response, settling back into his position against the wall.

"I'm glad we're clear on that." She tucked the gun back into pants and folded her arms. "Now, once Rick drags you off to your new Cell Block, you'll be alone most of the time. Won't be anybody to talk to—or yell at, for that matter. You'll have a lot of time to think. I'd like to give you a few things to think _about_. But before I do…"

She knelt down so that they were at eye level. She felt empowered, but never once let her guard down; never once let herself become too safe or sure. The gun was jabbing at her hip. It was strangely comforting.

"…I'd like to ask you a question."

Merle smiled, exposing his yellow teeth.

"Anythin', sweetheart."

_Fuck_. He really knew how to press all her buttons without crossing any borders. She repressed her discomfort.

"Why'd you do it?"

He seemed taken aback by the inquiry. That tiny moment of speechlessness was almost quenching. But he recovered quickly and continued to maintain his act.

"You think a man don't have needs jus' 'cause the world's ended?" he chuckled. "'Sides, I weren't gonna do nothin' anyways. Jus' wanted to put the offer out on the table, 's all."

Before Maggie could think twice, she had grabbed her gun once more and was squeezing tightly, the cold metal stinging her palms. Her finger rested on the trigger. The muzzle was pressing into Merle's lips. He gulped.

"Come on now, princess. You don' wanna do this…" he mumbled, barely enunciating.

"Shut up!" she barked. "You didn't answer my question. Why'd you do it? Why Carol? Why Carol an' not me or Beth?"

Her voice cracked at the end. It was a _horrible_ thing to ask. But fuck it, she wanted to know. She wasn't requesting the _real _answer—she already _knew _the real answer. All Maggie wanted to hear was _his_ answer. She moved the gun aside to allow him room to speak.

"I already_ told_ you, missy. I got certain needs, jus' like anyone else. I'm a lil' afraid o' you, plus I ain't no pedophile, so's there was only one person left. I jus' figured since she ain't got no one else, maybe she'd be interested."

"You're lying!" Maggie cried, and Merle found himself staring at the muzzle of the gun once more. Her voice was clouded with emotion and her breaths ragged. Her lips quivered. "You did it because _he_ loves her! You did it because you _hate_ to see _him_ care about _anyone_ but _you_!"

Then Rick entered the room. He'd heard Maggie's distressing yells. He'd been pacing by the door, waiting for something to go wrong; waiting to hear a scream or a gunshot. He clutched his rifle, but his arms fell slack.

The scene he witnessed was alarming. Maggie was crouched down, sobbing wildly, outstretched arm shaking something awful. Merle's jaw was clenched. Contempt burned in his eyes.

"Time's up." Rick stuttered, still trying—and failing—to process what the hell had just taken place.

But Maggie didn't need to be told. She was already halfway out the door.


	20. I Promise

_So, I'm still stuck without a laptop, and it's taking me a long time to write chapters and even longer to write good ones. The good news is that I will probably end up getting a new one very soon. Sharing one computer is slowly killing *everyone*. Anyway, I'm *sort of* satisfied with this chapter, so enjoy! _

"Carol, _no_."

"I wasn't _asking_ you," she snipped, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "I was _telling _you."

She squatted down and began sorting through a heap of dirty clothing in the corner. The mountainous laundry pile had been accumulating since she'd left with Daryl for hunting. Upon their return, she felt as though she'd gathered _no _time to wash clothes—or maybe she was just utterly spent. She'd since been re-wearing shirts and pants—the ones that didn't stink_ too_ badly, at least—but now her clean underwear stash was thinning and she'd decided that the line had to be drawn _somewhere_.

"You ain't in any shape to be goin' out on a run. 'Specially not _alone_."

"I'm not _going_ to be alone, Daryl." She retorted whilst pawing through her bag. She seemed to have packed everything: four water bottles, a few granola bars, a spare tank top, extra ammo. Her gun she tucked into the front of her pants, pulling her shirt down to conceal it.

"He's a _kid_, Carol. He can't _protect _you."

"_I _can protect _myself!" _She cried, although a bit louder than she'd intended to. Daryl fell silent; his face grew sullen. He_ hated _the thought of her leaving. What if she wound up bitten? Or gutted? Or captured? Or lost? And even if _nothing_ went awry and they came back unscathed and bearing food and formula, the mere thought of not knowing if she was safe or starving or freezing or lonely _terrified _him.

"You're _not _going to lose me, Daryl." She pledged, laying a hand on his chest as a gesture of comfort; of reassurance. There was a rhythm thudding against her palm; the cadence of a heartbeat Carol knew well. "That's a promise."

The frustration in her voice had diminished. Her eyes softened. She gave him a frail smile, scarcely more than a twitching of her lips, and he sighed in surrender. He'd fallen victim once more to her gentle touches and shy simpers.

"Fine. You win. But if you're leavin…" he reached back and produced his rag from his pocket. "…you ain't leavin' without _this_."

He held it out in front of him, urging her to receive it. She stared uncertainly.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable taking that from you." She explained, but his insistence failed to waver.

"I ain't comfortable with you _not _takin' it from me." He replied sharply. Then his features relaxed and he nudged it towards her. "Come on. 'S good luck."

She accepted the rag with hesitance and folded it into a little red square.

"If you're worried 'bout it gettin' lost, don' be." He assured her as she tucked it into a compartment on the side of her bag. "'S survived the end o' the world, remember."

She gave a chuckle as she tightened the laces on her shoes. Daryl gazed at her silently. Qualms grew like weeds in his mind and stomach felt akin to a void. She rose to her feet, brushed the dirt off her knees, and leaned in to deliver a tender farewell kiss.

.:|:.

Carl and Carol waited by the door, eager to embark on their mission. It would be nice to escape the stifling walls and creaky cell doors for a while. Daryl viewed from his perch, his gaze frequently wandering back towards the window to observe the walkers by the fence. There were only a few of them, and they looked particularly emaciated and weak: just graying flesh and brittle bones jabbing out from underneath tattered clothing. Just the four of them posed no threat to Carol and Carl, but a mass of them would. The two of them would be no match against a herd. They'd be devoured alive. Daryl tried to banish the thought, but it kept creeping back to haunt him.

The pair said their goodbyes to Rick, then to Hershel and Beth and Judy and finally Glenn and Maggie. Carol couldn't decipher why Maggie seemed so distressed, but she figured it best not to inquire. Perhaps she and Glenn had engaged in a brief dispute.

Daryl watched the two figures shrink as they crossed the prison yard—a little one accompanied by a larger one. His fingers curled into a fist as Axel opened the gate for them and received a nod of acknowledgement from Carol. Then their silhouettes vanished into the trees and he felt his throat clench up. He told himself to relax. Carol's voice replayed in his head, over and over and over:

"_You're not going to lose me, Daryl. That's a promise."_

But how on earth could she expect him believe that? Shouldn't she, of all people, know not to put faith in empty promises? He'd told her a million times that Sophia would be alright. He said it over and over. And he _believed _it, he did! But it didn't matter. Those promises were vacant and null. Sophia died. Words couldn't protect her. Words couldn't save her. And before he knew it, he was miserably regretting letting Carol walk out that door.

"Mind if I sit?"

Daryl glanced up to see Rick looming over him. His Sheriff's hat cast shadows down on his face. It'd been a while since he'd worn it. It almost looked foreign. Daryl grunted a meager 'sure' and Rick took a seat beside him.

"Got your hat back?"

"I'm keepin' it safe for Carl."

"You worried 'bout 'im at all?" Daryl asked, turning to face Rick, who was gazing out the window, though focusing on nothing in particular. His companion shook his head.

"Maybe eight months ago. But he's grown up a lot since then. He needs to learn how to scavenge. It may come in handy sooner than I'd like to think."

Daryl nodded, wishing he could feel as hopeful.

"You worried about Carol?"

The question didn't surprise Daryl as much as it just confirmed a theory that had been developing in his mind for a long time. He'd never _really_ fooled himself into believing that he and Carol's relationship wasn't completely fucking obvious. Plus, Rick could see through anyone like they were made of glass. So he said nothing, partially meaning to convey a hint, and just stared ahead at the skyline.

"Don't be. She'll be fine."

A silence ensued. Daryl found it tense and strangling. Rick, however, used it to carefully string together his next sentence, making sure to avoid certain words that would send a shudder down his friend's spine. But much to Rick's surprise, Daryl spoke up first.

"She promised me she'd be okay. Don't help much, though."

"Yeah, I get it. I've been there, but on the other side. I'd tell Lori—I'd _swear _to her—that _nothing _would happen to me; that'd I'd be fine. Didn't stop her from worrying. But in the end, I always kept my promise. I always came back. You're going to have to put the same trust in Carol that Lori put in me."

Rick's voice gave out as his throat clenched up. Over the past month, there had been no time to grieve. They laid their fallen to rest and moved on—or pretended to, at least. But it didn't numb the pain of loss; didn't even blunt the edges. It made it worse. They swallowed their sorrow and gradually, it amassed inside them, weighing down on their spirits. Lately, nobody had been struggling more than Rick. He felt as if he were obligated, as their leader, to be strong and collected. But he was crumbling, and it was excruciatingly obvious to everyone.

"Sorry, man."

Rick shook his head and sighed, the spell of grief ebbing. They came and went, moments like those, normally during nightly vigils when he was on watch duty, but it wasn't unusual for him to find himself choking up in the middle of the day during casual tasks, like eating breakfast or cleaning his gun.

"There's nothing I can do about Lori. She's gone. Maybe better off than all of us. But the thing is…when she died, I worry she didn't know just how much I loved her—how much I _still_ love her. We had a lot of disagreements towards the end. I was stressed, she was _pregnant_…we just weren't gettin' along like we used to. I meant to fix it, I did, but I…I thought we had more time. Turns out we didn't. So when Carol gets back, you need to tell her how much she means to you. Otherwise you might never get another chance, and brother, take it from someone who knows: you do _not_ want to live wondering if she ever knew somethin' like that."

.:|:.

"How far away is it?" Carl asked, trudging through a patch of vines, little thorns gripping at his pant legs and scratching the leather of his shoes. Just ahead, Carol was crouched down in the brush, using a hand to shield the sun from her eyes as she craned her neck, peering across the street. There were several walkers stumbling around aimlessly, drooling and growling as they wended their way in between cars. She could discern six of them, but knew full well there could be plenty more out of sight.

"Not far. But I don't want to risk runnin' across just yet. I can't see very far, an' the last thing we need is a herd on our trail."

"So we just do what? Sit here and wait? Find another way around?"

Carol unzipped her bag, cautiously and quiet, and pulled her water bottle out. She unscrewed the lid and took a swig before offering it to Carl.

"I'm workin' on it."


	21. No Way Out

There was a clinking of metal keys and the click of a lock. A bar of sunlight cut through the shadow, making the floating dust look like falling snow. The bodies, putrid and swollen, had been stacked in a heap and set aflame. The fresh blood had been swabbed from the floor; the dried blood had been scoured from the walls. There was a lingering stench of death. An eerie silence reigned.

Most of the mattresses were full of bullet holes and crimson stains, and thus were deemed useless. A few, however, were salvageable, and thus the group stripped them of their sheets, hauling the grimy fabrics away to be scrubbed and relieved of filth so they could later be repurposed. Beth volunteered to dress and ready a single bed, which she did so with enthusiasm, for she was always happy to contribute. Maggie packed a cardboard box full of food and other essentials. Rick toyed with a pair of shiny handcuffs, relishing the sight and feel of a familiar item; a reminder of his previous life. He adjusted their size so that they were large enough to fit well above Merle's wrists. Daryl paced by the window, his eyes glued to the yellowing pane.

"'S gonna be dark in a few hours. Ain't safe for them t' be wanderin' around at night."

"If they aren't back by sundown, they'll make camp somewhere." Remarked Glenn as he sorted through the contents of the box, scrutinizing every item Maggie had included. He wasn't happy about handing their hard-earned supplies off to Merle Dixon, and was even more displeased to find the last can of peaches tucked neatly between two tins of beans. "They've barely been gone a day. It's a _little_ early to start worrying."

"'Scuse me if I'm givin' you an earache, but Carol an' Carl ain't safe out there alone, _'specially_ not after dark." Daryl snapped, feeling a burn of irritation. "Where the hell're they s'posed t' make camp? They ain't got no car; no flashlights."

"They'll find a house, or a…I don't know..._something_."

"This was a fuckin' _bad _idea…" Daryl groaned, fingers snaking through his hair as he turned his back on Glenn and wandered back to the window, pressing his hands against the glass. The sun's rays were already wavering, and the chalky gray clouds looked especially dark against the milky orange sky.

"No, it was a_ good_ idea," Glenn retorted as he fiddled with a travel-sized bottle of minty-green mouthwash. "We're running really low on formula, and if we don't get some soon…it'll suck for all of us."

Glenn had exercised caution and made sure to conclude his sentence in a whisper. Rick was already painfully aware that their formula source could possibly run dry and dreaded to think of the consequences that would follow such a scenario. Glenn knew that by mentioning this fear, he would only rub salt in already sore wounds. Daryl, however, wasn't one for masking his frustration and felt_ no_ urge to lower his voice, even if he knew damn well what he had to say wouldn't go over well with Rick.

"Yeah, an' if Carl an' Carol get killed out there, tha's _three _graves we're gonna hafta dig!"

Rick was promptly pulled from his train of thought. He snapped to attention so suddenly, it was as if a switch had been flipped.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. _Nobody _will be digging _any_ graves, because _nobody_ is dying." he huffed, jumping to his feet. He tossed the handcuffs and keys to Daryl, who scarcely caught the latter. "Now, go get your brother. This cell block is ready."

.:|:.

"Carol, I think my_ legs_ are numb," Carl complained, just loud enough so that he wouldn't have to repeat himself. "We've been sitting here _forever_. We need to just make a run for it."

Carol sighed, but nodded in agreement. They had been squatting in the high, itchy grass for hours, watching walkers stumble up and down the road. They had had their fair share of close encounters. A few times they had been hesitant to even _breathe_. It was blindly obvious that they had unintentionally entered a territory claimed entirely by the dead. The moaning was deafening, and the volume only increased as the light deteriorated. They found themselves facing a difficult decision.

The first option they considered was trekking back to the prison. Come morning, they could formulate a new plan of action. But even if they began their descent immediately, they were unlikely to arrive at their destination before nightfall, which meant the only remaining option was to do what Carl had suggested and make a break for it. If they took the risk and successfully were able to successfully barricade themselves inside the store, they would at least have somewhere to hole up in until dawn.

"I know. It's just…this place is_ crawling_ with walkers. The _moment _we step out of these bushes, it'll be run or die. And if we fire even a_ single_ shot…" she restrained a shudder. "We're _screwed_."

Carl nodded, understanding the danger they would soon face. His fingers uncurled from the handle of his gun and he brought his hand up to adjust the brim of his hat and brush the hair from his eyes.

"Don't worry about killing them. Don't worry about me. Just get to the store as fast as you can." Carol instructed. Her stern and somber voice was an enormous diversion from her normally cheerful tone. It almost seemed unnatural to Carl.

"_One_…_two_…" she took a deep breath, the brittle leaves beneath her crunching as she shifted her feet, legs poised to spring. "…_three_!"

They bolted, dashing out of the bushes and into the clearing. The pallid rays of the moon revealed an alarming sight: the entire district was utterly _infested_ with the undead. Carol stumbled in shock. Her heart lurched. Behind her, Carl gasped, and she felt his nails digging into her arm. They were surrounded. There was no way out.


	22. This is Sacrifice

_This chapter took forever to get up, I know. At first I was having tons of writer's block. I just didn't _feel _like writing, and everything was coming out like crap. Then I finally hit a pocket of motivation, and BOOM! Everything gets deleted and I have to write it all over again. Anyway, this is the penultimate chapter—next one and the story is finished. So enjoy! _

Carl's grip tightened and Carol's heart raced. _Never_ had she seen so many of them congregated in one place. During the grueling winter, they'd experienced a few herds more akin to small armies; hundreds of hunched, snarling figures shuffling their way across the terrain, almost as if they had thronged together to migrate to warmer weather. During one instance in particular, she, Lori and Carl had been forced to pile up in the trunk of their car and endure an excruciating wait. Even after the swarm had passed, they dared not emerge, recalling all-too-vividly what had happened to Sophia. When Rick finally tapped the window to alert them that the coast was clear, they nearly jumped out of their skin. Carol never forgot that distinct, dreadful feeling of raw, overwhelming terror gripping her mind, seizing her muscles and coursing through her veins. That very same feeling had returned, no duller than before, except she and Carl were under very different circumstances: there _was _nowhere to hide.

Initially, only a few walkers seemed to notice their arrival. Their heads turned slowly and awkwardly, as if they were no longer accustomed to moving their necks, but it was not long before others became aware of their presence as well, and before she knew it, she had latched onto Carl's wrist and they were running for their lives.

Carol spotted a building approximately fifty yards away. The moon's light seemed unable to reach its walls, thus most of its details were left obscured in the shadows, but from what she _could_ make out, it seemed like their only hope. It was blockish and frumpy in structure and desperately in need of fresh paint—at least to cover up the layer of dry, crusty blood. The windows were boarded up with planks of moldy wood and the nails had developed scabs of rust. The door, however, was not ajar, which lead to Carol's assumption that walkers had not yet infiltrated the interior. Even if there _were _a few corpses lurking inside, _nothing_ could be worse than what they faced _outside_.

Carol was able to achieve a few decent headshots, thanks to the pale shafts of moonlight. Carl mirrored her actions, firing with as much accuracy as she did. The two made a remarkable team and before long, they had cleared themselves a path leading straight to their refuge.

Carol raced up to the door, twisting the knob with such strength she nearly snapped it off. But alas, things were not as promising as they had once seemed—it was locked from the inside. She swore briskly under her breath, giving the doorknob a violent rattle in a sudden fit of frustration.

"It won't open?"

Carl's voice broke Carol's heart. It had been a_ long _time since he'd sounded so_ young_ and _afraid. _It only made her all the more desperate to find a way in. More walkers were beginning to gain on them, and Carl's accuracy was faltering. His bullets ripped through shoulders, necks and chests, but he was having a hell of a time accomplishing a proper headshot.

Carol mustered all her strength, took a running leap and rammed herself into the wood. The door barely even shuddered. She did not attain entrance, but a sore shoulder instead. It was then that Carl spent his final bullet. The empty shell clattered to the concrete, and no matter how hard he squeezed that trigger, his weapon was silent thenceforth—which made it particularly alarming when gunfire ignited in the near distance.

"Oh god…" she whimpered, and both of them froze. By the sound of it, the group was far too large to tackle, especially with only one functioning gun. For all Carol knew, it could have been a team assembled by the Governor himself. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. But she had to push the fear out of her mind; she had to make an important decision, and she had to make it lucidly.

Her hand dove into her bag and she fumbled with a metal button. Then she pulled out a red rag and held it towards Carl, urging him to take it.

"Carl, you have to leave now," she told him. "If you leave now and run, you can make it back to the prison by dawn."

"No!" he cried, dread already swelling up inside him. Carol was his _second-mother_. He was _not _about to abandon her so quickly. He _couldn't_. "I'm not leaving you to die!"

"I know it's not easy, Carl," she said, her voice beginning to crack. "But you gotta do it."

And with that, she pushed the rag into Carl's hands and drew him into an embrace. His hat made it a bit awkward, and so she removed it. His heart thudded loudly and he buried his face into her shirt, beginning to softly cry. She laid a light, gentle kiss atop his head. She used to that to Sophia. It always comforted her—comforted the both of them.

"Give the rag to Daryl. Don't let him come looking for me. If I'm not back in three days…" she took a deep breath. "…forget about me. Don't risk any more lives. Please."

"What will you do after I leave?" he sniffled, wiping his dampened cheeks with the back of his wrist.

"I'm going to make a run for it; for the store. Maybe we get the formula after all; maybe they don't want any trouble. But I can't count on it. So you have to go, right now, while they're distracted. You have to go and you can't look back."

He nodded, taking a moment to calm down. She swept his hair away from his eyes and placed the hat back on his head.

"Do you know the way back to the prison?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Good. Here, take this," she handed him her gun. "There's no time to reload yours. Go on. I'll be alright without it."

He received her weapon, though not without a pang of guilt. It didn't feel right depriving her of protection, but he didn't have a choice: she paid no heed to his protests.

"This is suicide." He muttered.

"_Sacrifice_." She corrected, giving him a faint smile. And just like that, he was gone. He darted off into the shadows, ducking behind dumpsters and overgrown shrubs and anything else he could use to conceal himself with. She waited several agonizing minutes before making her move.

.:|:.

"Rise an' shine, asshole!"

Merle awoke to the sound of Daryl's gruff yelling and a slamming door. He scarcely had time to rub the grogginess from his eyes before Daryl wrenched his arm away. He felt handcuffs snap onto his wrists.

"Easy now, lil' brother," he drawled, the bleariness beginning to ebb, as he was yanked to his feet. "Ain't no need t' be rough."

"We got a damn nice place cleared for you, Merle," Daryl said, leading his older sibling across the room. "Ain't gotta worry 'bout anyone else botherin' you anymore, 'cause you're gonna be all alone."

"They puttin' me in isolation, huh?"

"Pretty much."

"And you's goin' along with it?"

Daryl stopped, spinning Merle around to face him.

"It coulda been different, man. All this shit coulda been avoided if you'da jus' left 'er alone. If you'da jus…" his voice faltered suddenly, without any real reason he could think of. "…y'know, _forget it_. Jus' c'mon."

And so they proceeded, through the doorway and down the hall, until they came to the entrance of Cell Block D. Daryl shoved Merle through the entrance, and then began working at the lock of the handcuffs with that tiny, silvery key. His fingers were sweaty, making the task far more difficult than it should have been.

"Maggie…y'know, she tol' me somethin' pretty interestin'."

"Yeah…s'funny, 'cause she _still _won't talk about what went down."

Merle snorted.

"Tha's cute, y'see, 'cause_ I_ was the one gettin' screamed at with a gun in my face."

"She musta been pretty upset then, huh?"

"Tha's an _understatement_. She was _rabid_. Ain't never _seen _a woman so worked up 'bout somethin'!" he laughed, recalling the cold sting of metal against his lips as he listened to her yelling and crying and rambling as if she knew _anything _about what he and Daryl had been through together. "But the funniest part is: she tol' me that the reason I did what I did, was 'because I was pissed off 'cause you love Peaches."

The key slipped and clanged to the ground, making a far louder noise than it should have. Daryl winced as the echo bounced off every surface.

"But you an' I both know that ain't true, right?"

Daryl leaned down to retrieve the key.

"Which part?"

Merle snickered.

"This you markin' your property, then?"

Daryl inserted the key into the lock once more and jerked it sideways. The handcuffs released. He stuck them in his pocket; the one he normally kept his rag in. The emptiness took a bit of adjustment. He could hardly recall ever being without it. But if he couldn't trust Carol, who _could_ he trust?

"She ain't my property, man."

Merle cocked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up in amusement.

"Aww, ain't that cute," he cooed as Daryl turned to leave, his muscles noticeably clenched in irritation. "Only took the end o' the world."

"Fuck off."

Then the door banged shut, and for the first time in his life, Merle Dixon was truly alone.

.:|:.

Carol dashed. She leapt across a fallen body and dodged a lunging walker. It was a perilous twenty yards. All around her, guns fired and silhouettes dropped like flies. She was sprinting across a _battlefield_, and her shirt was already soaked to the skin with blood. It wasn't even her own. But in an instant, that changed.

It all happened so fast. The details morphed and melted together. All she knew was that one minute she was running, and the next, she was not. There was a blast behind her, and then she felt as if she had been plunged into icy water. There was stabbing pain in her abdomen, and when she looked down, all she saw was red—red on her shirt, on her hands, on the ground below her. She managed a few sharp breaths before her hearing grew muffled and her vision, dark. Then there was dirt in her mouth and blackness engulfed her mind.


	23. The Way It Has to Be: Part II

_Alright folks, this is it. This is the last chapter. I hope you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it! Thank you all for reading/reviewing. I'd love to hear your thoughts when you're finished. I'll be beginning other Caryl stories soon, so keep your eyes peeled for me! Once again, thank you, and enjoy! _

He'd been running nonstop for hours; hours that seemed like eternity. His legs felt like lead. He could hardly take another step. He was gasping for breath; he could scarcely hear anything past the beating of his own heart. There was a cramp in his gut; his gut was a void. But he couldn't stop. He was almost there. He had to push just a little further.

He approached the gate and allowed himself a moment's rest, but as soon as he did so, he was hit with a wave of intense nausea. Before he could even think to repress it, he had already knelt down and vomited into the grass. Hardly anything came up. Then he slowly stood and laced his fingers through the links of the gate and rattled the metal as hard as he could whilst shouting at the top of his lungs.

Several uneventful minutes passed, and he was just beginning to feel the grip of despair when he spied the side door swing open and his father rush out. Even from a distance, the man looked rough, as if he hadn't slept a solid six hours in ages-which, of course, he hadn't. It wasn't long before Beth was at his heels, clad in nothing but her nightclothes. If he hadn't been on the verge of dropping dead, Carl probably would've blushed.

The pair heaved the gate open and Rick wasted no time drawing his son into a tight, strangling embrace, for no real reason Carl could conceive. Beth grinned at him, but her relief soon turned to concern. She gazed at the treeline, a look of sheer confusion creased into her features.

"Where's Carol?" she asked hesitantly, and Carl's heart dropped. He'd arrived at the moment he'd been dreading the entire trip back. He'd tried to rehearse what he'd say; how he'd break the news to Daryl, but all words faltered. There were no words he knew of that could accurately describe what had happened.

_Sacrifice._

He'd seen it before. His own mother had done it. She'd died so that Judith could live.

_No._

She died to give Judith a chance at living.

And then he saw it again, just the previous night. Watched from afar as Carol dashed across the pavement, defenseless and alone. Watched like a coward as she stopped dead in her tracks and keeled over, dead; shot. She took a bullet from a faceless stranger just so that he could scramble away.

_Sacrifice._

To lay down your life to salvage another's is both brave and honorable; a noble, courageous death. But Carl feared Daryl would never accept that. Even if he did, he would never look at the young boy with anything but contempt again.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he felt like a small child again, turning to his father for comfort. Beth let out a sob as the realization hit her.

"What am I supposed to tell Daryl?" Carl sniffled. Rick's head dropped, and he sighed mournfully.

"You rest. Wash up. Eat something. I'll handle it."

Beth's face was now buried in her hands and her shoulders heaved and dropped spastically as she cried. She and Carol had grown deep bonds over the past nine months. They didn't share blood, but Carol was like the mother Beth had lost. Rick wiped his cheeks, his strong demeanor faltering.

"Dad...wait..." Carl's arm shot out and he grabbed ahold of his father's shirt, yanking him back. Then his hand dove into his pocket and he retrieved the red rag Carol had given him. "Give this back to Daryl."

Rick nodded grimly, receiving the cloth and smoothing his fingers over the fabric, suddenly consumed by guilt. He'd told Daryl everything would be alright; that Carol would be alright. He _promised_ him. And now he had to break the news that he'd been wrong; that his well-meant promises had been nothing more than comforting lies. Beth wept bitterly and Carl attempted to console her by placing an assuring hand on her shoulder, but instead she pulled him into a hug as Rick trekked back to the prison, all the while contemplating how he would explain to the others that they'd lost Carol.

.:|:.

She drifted in and out of consciousness. She vaguely remembered the sensation of a hot needle piercing her flesh over and over, too weak to cry out in pain as her skin was tugged relentlessly. She recalled muffled, indistinct voices and a hand on her forehead. At last, she mustered the strength to open her eyes. A blurry-faced figure was crouched over her. Her vision—it was like peering through a veil. Her dark lashes fluttered. The world began to come into focus.

"Where…where am I?" were the first words she uttered. The woman smiled warmly and wrung out a damp cloth.

"Safe," was her simple response. Carol's brow furrowed. Her back ached something awful and she tried to readjust herself, but when she shifted, bolts of pain crippled her. She yelped.

"Careful now," the woman warned. "We patched you up, but the infection's pretty bad. I was actually just about to clean the wound again."

"Who are you?" Carol asked. A bottle was placed to her lips and she tipped her head up slightly. The water was crisp and cool and she guzzled it with surprising voracity. Her thirst was burning; undying. Finally she finished and wiped the droplets of moisture from her chin.

"My name's Elizabeth," the woman replied, screwing the cap back onto the now-empty bottle. "Ellie for short. And the others are Sean, Eric, Stephanie, Austin and Alex."

"What the hell happened?" Carol asked as she glanced around at her surroundings. The windows were covered by long, thick blankets, but midday light spilled in through the edges. There were isles and isles of shelves, their contents mostly wiped out, and some empty cans littered the floor. Ellie sighed as she cut a lengthy strip of gauze to an adequate size.

"There was an accident," she explained. "And you were shot. But it was nothing more than a stupid mistake. He didn't mean to hurt you. We're not like that. If it helps at all, we're terribly sorry. Really."

"How long've I been out?"

"A good day or so. Sometimes you'd murmur things, but for the most part, you were borderline comatose. To tell you the truth, I was starting to worry."

"Dammit." Carol swore, suddenly filled with panic. She told Carl—she promised him—that she'd be back within three days. Now she had two remaining, and she was in far too weak a state to accomplish the journey.

"I'd consider myself lucky." Ellie grinned, reaching over and grabbing a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide. "You were dealt the worst case scenario and survived. What the hell were you doing out here alone and unarmed anyway?"

"I wasn't…" Carol began, but immediately caught her tongue. "I didn't expect so many of them."

Ellie chuckled.

"Neither did we. Most of the time, this place is pretty empty. But damn, if you fire even _one_ shot at the wrong time…" her voice trailed off as she squirted a drop of hand-sanitizer into her palms and rubbed them together, preparing to face the grisly sight of Carol's wound once more. "This is going to hurt, but I need you to stay as calm as you can. We've got to get this infection under control."

Carol nodded, twisting the blanket in her hand as Ellie peeled the gauze away from her stomach. Even the tiniest bit of contact made her wince. Ellie dabbed at the injury with the dampened rag, attempting to soak up the majority of the blood. Carol took an abrupt, sharp breath and tensed up.

"Sorry. I wish there was another way. This was so much easier when you were asleep."

"I'm inclined to agree."

"So I take it you were scavenging for supplies?" said Ellie suddenly, as if merely changing the subject would take the edge off the pain.

"What gave it away?" Carol asked, half-joking, though there was very little humor in her voice.

"The big empty bag was a pretty good hint." Ellie replied, swishing the rag around in the water once more, the fabric now tinged pink. "Your camp must be pretty close for you to venture out weaponless and unaccompanied. Most scavengers come in groups of two or three, and with more guns than they need. You must be pretty brave."

"Don't confuse brave with stupid," Carol jested, her jaw clenched and teeth gritted. "But what about you guys? How long've you been living here?"

"Living is hardly the word I'd use," Ellie sighed. "I'd describe it more as 'scraping by'. We were bigger, once—much bigger. But it didn't work out. Too many clashing personalities. Eventually, we divided into three separate groups and split up. God only knows what happened to the other two, which is a pity. Some of those people became my family. I'm sure you know what that feels like."

Carol nodded gravely, recalling the numerous friends she'd lost; friends she'd loved dearly, with all her heart: Lori, T-Dog, and Jacqui to name but a few. And then there was her darling, sweet Sophia, who _was_ family; who _was_ her blood.

"I lost my daughter," she informed solemnly. "She went missing, and when she turned up again…well, you can imagine."

"I'm sorry. I lost all of my siblings. I had three. They were all younger. Growing up, y'know, it was always my job to protect them—from perverts walking down the street, from getting lost in the woods, from falling onto the pavement and scraping their knees. When they…died…I felt like I'd failed them; like I'd failed my parents. I still carry that guilt. It's something you never get over."

Carol's lips parted to speak, but her words fell just shy of existence. Ellie poured a healthy dose of hydrogen peroxide over her stomach, and the pain strangled her speech. The substance sizzled as it cleansed the bullet wound, foaming up around the uneven stitches.

"S'okay. The worst part's over," Ellie announced, blotting away the excess pooled peroxide with a clean, dry towel. "Now all I need to do is wrap you up in some fresh gauze and give you some more antibiotics."

Carol relaxed as best she could, leaning back down, letting her head sink into the floppy pillow once more. The pain subsided, now more discomforting than anguishing, and she waited in silence until the wound was properly dressed.

"Thank you," she said, inhaling deeply. "For everything. I can't express how grateful I am for-"

Suddenly, a door burst open and a man stormed in, visibly angered. His glare settled on Carol, and he lunged, his arm extended and index finger pointed in accusation.

"Are you with them?!" he roared, barreling towards her. Ellie leapt up, blocking his path. She was yelling at him, but her voice was drowned out by his.

"Hey!" he raged, scorn and spite burning in his eyes. "Answer me, goddammit! Are you with them?!"

"Sean, knock it off! She's not with them. She's not. Calm the hell down."

"And how the hell would you know?" he spat. He was no longer advancing, but he remained tense and ready to charge in a moment's notice. He was a large man-six feet tall at least, and well over two hundred pounds. His hair was scraggly and his beard was patchy. His clothing was bloody, filthy and tattered. His appearance alone _reeked_ of sweat and body odor. "Come on, Ellie! _Think_, for Chrissakes! This is the_ third_ time this week. The_ third!_ That makes _eight_ this month. But this time, we're gonna try somethin' different..."

He shoved Ellie aside as if she were made of paper, and darted towards Carol. He unsheathed his knife in one swift motion. He held it out under her nose, forcing her to observe the blade's razor-sharp edge; to admire the way the metal glinted in the meager sunlight. He stared her down murderously.

"You see this knife here? You better take a good, long looked at it, 'cause you're gonna be gettin' _pretty_ familiar with it here soon..." he growled, bending down even further, until his breath ghosted across her upper lip. She clenched up, shrinking into the corner, when suddenly, Sean froze. The muzzle of Ellie's gun hovered just above his head.

"Get away from her," she warned, and there was a click as the weapon cocked. "Don't make me do this."

"You _wouldn't._" He grinned, but obeyed nonetheless. Ellie lowered her gun slowly as the distance between Carol and Sean gradually increased.

"This is a fucking _mistake_!" he cried, rising to his feet. "And when all hell breaks loose, that blood is on _your _hands."

"With all due respect," Ellie began, arms folded across her chest confidently. "I think you're overreacting. I don't think she's with them. I think this is a misunderstanding."

Sean groaned and pressed his palms to his forehead, tugging at the roots of his dark hair.

"I'm serious. It doesn't make any sense," Ellie continued. "They always come in groups. They're never alone. And they're _always_ heavily armed. She had a box of ammo and a pocket knife. Besides, last I checked, he's _never_ sent a woman."

"That's exactly_ it_, Ellie! He's throwin' us a curveball! Alls he gave 'er was a backstory and sent 'er on 'er way! She'll make us trust 'er; make us feel all safe an' cozy 'round 'er, and next thing we know, _boom!_ We're all dead."

Ellie grew silent. His theory...it wasn't as full-of-holes as she'd expected it to be. In fact, it made _perfect_ sense. Perhaps Sean was onto something. She chewed her lip anxiously. Then at last Carol found the courage to pipe up.

"I'm not with Woodbury," she stated simply. "I'm not a scout, nor am I an assassin. I was scavenging for supplies. I know it doesn't mean much, and you have every reason to not believe me, but I'm begging you to trust me when I say I'm being honest."

Ellie's mouth opened, but Sean swiftly shot her down.

"El, she ain't stupid. You think she's gonna own up to workin' with the enemy? O'course not." The loudness of his voice increased with every word. "She's gonna lie 'er way into trust, an' then she's gonna kill us all. They got it all figured out. So we gotta make it so they don't. We're gonna shake 'em up; gonna show us who they're fuckin' with!"

And that's when Ellie slapped him. It was curt and unexpected, and by the sound of it, must have stung something awful. Carol wished she'd ever had the strength to do the same to Ed. Sean cupped his cheek in his hand, his eyes wide in shock, but Ellie remained stern and collected.

"Get a goddamn _grip_," she snarled before turning away and kneeling at Carol's side. "As for you...I'm trusting you. What Sean said...it makes sense. But I'm going to go with my instinct on this one. Don't make me regret it."

Carol smiled, deeply relieved, though she fought to conceal it. She didn't want to appear as if she were too pleased with herself. She didn't want to raise any more suspicions. Against all odds, she was alive, and she was willing to do anything to keep it that way.

.:|:.

Daryl's feet hung dismally off the edge of his perch. His mind was hot with anger. His stomach refused to settle. Every breath was an effort. He battled against sorrow; against tears.

Rick had told him. He'd tried to word it gently. It was almost worse that way.

He wanted silence. Not alleviation. Not support. He wanted silence; _darkness_. But more than anything, he wanted pain, because in that moment, he felt numb.

_"I can protect myself."_

Judith's wails seemed a hundred times louder than they usually did. It was as if she were aware of the circumstances.

_"You're not going to lose me, Daryl."_

His rag was wadded up in his fist. He squeezed tighter. He wished that goddamn baby would shut up. Every anguished cry made him cringe; made his ears ache; made his teeth grind together.

_"That's a promise."_

Her words were vivid in his memory. It'd been only a day or so ago that she'd spoken them. A day ago, she was alive. Alive, and within an arm's reach. Her warm smile, her doting personality, her aspiration to nurture and her knack for understanding...it was all gone. Every bit of it had been erased, like wiping away a smudge. Her teasing smiles and deliciously tormenting touches were now but turned pages in his storybook.

The Carol he knew and loved was gone. Nothing could restore her. But the thought of her, milky-eyed and wandering around the woods with drool dangling from her lip...that's what was eating at him. In time, someone would stumble across her re-animated corpse, and plant a bullet in her brain without batting an eyelash, because you didn't _think_ about things like that; you didn't _want_ to. Looking at the walkers as monsters was an easy way to justify bludgeoning their heads to smithereens. But losing Carol made Daryl re-evaluate everything he'd ever said or done. It brought a new aspect of misery into his life. And for the first time in a while, she wasn't there to help him through it.

.:|:.

Carol slept soundly through the night. Occasionally she'd wake up to muffled voices arguing in another room, but she eventually grew to ignore them. She awoke to Ellie carefully changing her gauze once again.

Immediately, she knew something was dreadfully wrong. The pain in her abdomen had increased tenfold, and she could already feel the beginnings of a blazing fever building up.

"I don't know how this happened," Ellie's voice quaked miserably. "I thought you could go the night...I thought I had the infection under control...oh, _god!_"

Carol made the dire mistake of looking down. She felt instantly worse. Her entire stomach had turned a sickly shade of yellow, and the wound had begun seeping blood and pus. The sight of it quickened her breathing, and she moaned in agony.

Ellie scrambled for the antibiotics, but when she popped the cap off the bottle, her heart sank. It was empty.

.:|:.

Beth watched the sky. She didn't want to move or talk. She didn't want to die, but she didn't particularly feel like living either. She wished instead that she could pause life and resume after the sting of loss had dulled.

The only thing she really felt like doing, surprisingly enough, was praying. She wasn't sure anyone would be listening, and she doubted they would be of help, but the act of folding her hands and closing her eyes and silently asking for protection and good fortune was at least familiar.

She had barely begun, however, when the distant rumble of a car interrupted her thoughts. Her head snapped up and she scanned the area nervously. She was unable to pinpoint the source of the noise, but it was steadily growing louder. She held her breath for a few seconds while she listened, and then bolted for the door.

.:|:.

"Hanging in there?"

Carol groaned a 'yeah', though she doubted Ellie heard. Throes of pain clutched her body every time they hit a bump or swerved around a walker. She was sprawled out in the backseat of a stranger's car, beads of sweat breaking on her brow as her fever peaked. She clutched at her necklace and stroked the stone.

Leading Ellie to the prison was risky. Her group was small and struggling. They were holed up in a small supermarket with only a few proficient gunners and one vehicle. But at the prison, it was different: there were plenty of weapons and plenty of space and Daryl supplied fresh meat at least a few times a week. Rick had created a_ life_ for them and no doubt Ellie's group would want that, too. But while Ellie was mellow enough, Carol couldn't _imagine_ how Sean would react under Rick's leadership. No doubt there would be clashes. It would never work. But she'd made a promise to Daryl, and she intended to keep it.

"Your group...they don't take kindly to foreigners, do they?"

"Depends." replied Carol weakly. "You're not much of a threat, but if you show up with your friends, it may be a different story."

Ellie nodded.

"I understand. Sean can be..._volatile. _He and I..."

Her voice trailed off, and Carol thought she would leave the rest to assumption, but surprisingly, she expanded.

"It was only once. It was stupid. I mean, he was much different then, but still stupid. The thing is, though..._he _doesn't see it as stupid. He doesn't see it as a mistake. He _loves_ me, and I feel _terrible_, because_ I_ don't love _him_. But sometimes, I play along. I make him think there's something between us. It's terrible, but if I didn't, you probably wouldn't be in this car right now."

Carol would've responded, except she feared she wasn't able to. Ellie sighed as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders and smiled.

"God, that felt good to get out."

Without warning, the car came to a screeching halt. Carol couldn't see anything, but judging by the gruff yelling and Ellie hesitantly raising her hands in the air, they had arrived.

"Get her out of the car!" Rick ordered, gun pointed and ready to shoot. Daryl stepped forth swiftly, Maggie covering him, and flung the door ajar. He grabbed Ellie's arm, yanked her out, and threw her into the dirt. Rick crouched down beside her and snapped the handcuffs onto her wrists.

"Get 'er inside, I'll check the car." Daryl said, popping the trunk and climbing in. Initially, all he found were empty crates and stray bullets.

_Ain't nothin' in here but trash._

But then, a bag in the corner caught his eye. He paused. It profoundly resembled Carol's, and served as a painful reminder of her; of the fact that she was gone. He reached over and hoisted it over his shoulder, bringing it obediently to Rick, who immediately yanked on the zipper to expose the contents.

The bag was full of baby formula. They exchanged perplexed glances. After a while of weighing the risks, Ellie spoke up.

"There's more." She said. "Check the backseat."

After receiving confirmation from Rick, Daryl heaved the side door of the car open and gasped at what he saw.

_Carol. _

Her breathing was labored, her shirt was stained and ravaged, she barely clung to existence, but yet she was alive. Carol was _alive_. Her eyes cracked open. She gazed at him in wonder, and he wasted no time dropping his crossbow, clambering into the vehicle and scooping her up in his arms. She gave a tiny moan at the involuntary pressure applied to her wound.

"Shhh, s'okay," he whispered. "S'okay. I gotcha now."

.:|:.

Carol's life force was draining fast, and there was no time to celebrate. Everyone pitched in to help Hershel care for her, except Rick, who instantly whisked Ellie away for questioning. Beth sifted through the bag of medical supplies, Maggie and Glenn fetched bottles of water, and Carl helped Axel dress a bed with fresh sheets. Daryl stayed loyally by Carol's side while Hershel examined the wound, gauging the severity of the infection.

"Well?" asked Daryl impatiently. "Is she gonna be alright?"

Hershel ceased working for a moment while he considered his answer.

"If what her friend says is true, it's gotten bad in a short period of time. Very bad. It doesn't look good at all." He stated bluntly. Daryl's heart plummeted.

"But you can fix 'er, right? She ain't gonna die, right?"

Hershel turned to face him, his eyes sullen.

"I don't know."

.:|:.

In the dark and quiet confines of the cell, he waited. It had been hours since someone strolled in to check on her. Daryl had insisted he could manage it himself; said he didn't feel much like sleeping anyway. But everyone knew he really just wanted alone time with her.

Their fingers were laced together. She clutched his hand like a lifeline; like it was the only thing tethering her to the Earth. He heard only the melody of her soft breathing. Her forehead shone in the pallid moonlight and he reached over to gingerly sweep a few silvery tufts away from the sweat, rousing her unintentionally.

"Mmm..." she mumbled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "What a lovely face to wake up to."

"Sorry for wakin' you," he apologized. "You should be sleepin'."

"No. I like seeing you. I'm glad you're here."

He smiled faintly in the darkness.

"How d'you feel?"

"Like shit," she grumbled, and the corners of his lips tugging up further. "Where's Ellie?"

"Rick's got 'er locked up in a cell. Ain't sure what to do with 'er."

"Tell him not to hurt her. She's a good woman."

"I will." He promised.

At first, she appeared satisfied, but then she frowned. A fit of hacking and sputtering ensued. Daryl scrambled for her water bottle. Every heaving cough inflicted intense agony, until her eyes brimmed with tears. She clutched and clawed at his shirt. He offered her a drink, but she pushed his hand away.

"Daryl..." she rasped as he helped lower her back down onto her pillow. "Daryl, I'm not going to make it."

He stared at her in disbelief and shook his head.

"Don' say that," he growled, tucking the sheets around her body. "You're delirious."

"I'm _serious_. I'm not going to pull through. I know it. I can feel it."

"Carol, you're _drugged up_. You're going to be _fine_. Now shut up and go back to sleep."

"I want you to take good care of Judith. She likes you a lot. Don't let anything happen to her."

"Carol, _go back to sleep_."

"Help Rick out. He'll need you more than ever."

"Shut _up_. You're going to be _fine_. _Go to sleep_."

"Keep an eye on Carl, and on Beth. They look up to you, y'know."

"This ain't funny. Stop."

"And when I'm gone..._when I pass_...don't let me become a walker."

"Hershel!"

"Do whatever you have to. Just don't let me become one of those things."

"_Hershel!_"

"I love you, Daryl. Daryl, I love you."

"Goddammit, _Hershel! Someone!"_

"God, I love you _so_ much."

He opened his mouth to call out again, but she pounced on him, blocking his words with her sweet lips, smothering him with a wild, ardent kiss. She released him just as Glenn and Maggie tore into the cell; just before she was swept away in the grips of another coughing fit. This time, blood spurted up and splattered the sheets and pillowcase. Glenn grabbed Daryl's arm, and despite his protest, he was defenselessly dragged away.

.:|:.

Daryl sat at the table, motionless. A bowl of food rested untouched in front of him. Beth had begged him to eat something. He'd taken a single bite to satisfy her, but after she left, he'd scarcely noticed it. The heat had long diminished, and he found he had little desire to eat cold, lumpy oatmeal anyway. Instead, he simply twisted the spoon around in the mush. He was tense with anticipation. At long last, Hershel hobbled into the room, and Daryl sprung to life.

"She okay?" he asked, jumping up immediately. "She alright? What hell was with the bleedin'?"

"Her throat is_ very_ raw. She's alive for now, but her infection is getting worse, and I don't quite understand why. It's as if the antibiotics aren't working."

Daryl barely dodged whimpering. He would have, too, except the last thing he needed was some old man's pity. He wasn't some goddamn stray puppy. So, disheartened as he was, he masked it with frustration and anger.

"The hell you mean they ain't workin'?" he cried. He found himself strangely maddened when Hershel barely flinched at his outburst.

"Calm down, son, I'm not entirely sure that's the case."

"Don' tell me to calm down! You're the one that tol' me you could help 'er!"

"I told you I could try. And I am. But we need to consider other possible outcomes."

"What? You mean like her dyin'?"

Hershel said nothing. His silence confirmed Daryl's greatest fear.

"Well, ain't this jus'_ swell_," he sneered. But his ire, formerly aimed at Hershel, suddenly changed course and he found himself overwhelmed by self-blame. "God_dammit_, I shouldn't've let 'er go!"

"What happened is not your fault," assured Hershel warmly. "And you need to stop thinking that right now, or else you'll never let go of it."

"An' you know so much 'bout lettin' go, don'tcha, ol' man?" Daryl retorted bitterly. "Didn't you have your Geek wife locked up in that barn of yours?"

"I did. I see my mistake now, and I regret it. I wish I'd been stronger." Hershel confessed. "But you _are_ stronger than I am. And if, God forbid, it comes down to it, I'm counting on you to be able to do what I couldn't."

Daryl's eyes narrowed dangerously and he was seconds away from explosion when Beth wandered into the room, ponytail messy and blue eyes timid.

"Carol wants to speak with you," she informed, staring straight at him. Then her gaze flickered down and rested upon the bowl of oatmeal she'd prepared for him. She frowned. "You haven't touched your food."

He ignored her last statement and wasted no time shoving past both of them without another word.

.:|:.

He rounded the corner sharply and entered her cell. As he figured, she was curled up in her bed, eyes closed yet not asleep. All the contempt and vexation that had previously been boiling up inside him drained away at the sight of her lying there. She was shockingly feeble and lifeless. She was casting shadows into her grave.

He dropped to his knees and leaned over her. Her eyes stirred and opened slightly.

"Hey there," he whispered softly, laying a hand on her cheek. Her skin was scorching. She gave him a frail smile.

"You're all blurry," she told him, the slightest hint of humor in her voice. " And I'm dying."

He shook his head.

"You can't leave me," he said. "I'm not ready. Neither are you."

"Nobody's _ready_," she pointed out. "But I can't fight it anymore."

"That ain't true. You_ can_ fight it. You _have_ to."

"No. I can't."

Carol drew in another breath and exhaled with a shudder. Her thin fingers curled around his. Her head drooped to the side, her eyelids slowly meeting. He tousled her back into consciousness.

"Don't leave me," he begged. "_Please_."

"I think..._this_ is how it's meant to be."

"No."

"I think this is the way it _has_ to be."

"_No_."

"You will take my necklace won't you? Keep it safe? Remember me?"

Daryl had always thought the phrase 'heartbroken' was stupid. How could one's heart break without resulting in certain death? Surely a more medically-accurate term could have been conjured. But in that moment, he understood it completely. His chest ached. Tears sprung to his eyes. There was no use keeping them at bay. But when he heard footsteps approaching, he quickly regained composure and wiped them away. He whirled around to face the advancing visitor.

Maggie strolled into view. Her stride was frantic; urgent.

"The hell d'you want?" he asked, suddenly lurching forward to block the cell's entrance.

"I think I know what's wrong with Carol."

Daryl swallowed hard.

"...Go on."

Maggie sighed.

"When I was putting together Merle's supply box, I decided to give him a ration of Tylenol. We didn't have much, so I took out most of the pills and stuck them in another bottle to keep for us."

She unexpectedly leapt forward, catching Daryl off guard. She snatched the bottle of antibiotics from the table by Carol's bed.

"These aren't antibiotics. They're Tylenol. We've been giving her _Tylenol_."

She twisted the cap off and popped a tablet out onto her palm. She held it towards him, urging him to look closely. At first he saw nothing, but then he noticed a single word etched into the white. Sure enough, it read '_Tylenol_'. He would've chided Maggie for being so careless if not for the fact that they had not a single second to spare.

"Then where the hell're the antibiotics?"

Maggie chewed her lip nervously.

"I think they're with Merle."

Daryl's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"I must've stuck the last bottle in on accident, thinkin' we had more."

Daryl glanced back at Carol's figure lying listless on the bed, her fingers still curled up from when she'd been gripping his hand. He focused on the rising and falling of her chest for a short while before turning away one final time.

"Watch 'er. Don't leave 'er. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Maggie stepped sharply to the side, allowing him to pass, and watched him for a few moments as he made his way to Cell Block D.

.:|:.

Merle had already cracked open the Tylenol and downed a few pills in an attempt to hinder his raging fever. They had proved effective, but he felt far from good. He was bored out of his mind, and he'd been provided only one means of entertainment: a single musty, yellow-paged book which had been included in the supply box, squashed underneath a jar of peanut butter. He'd already read it cover-to-cover three times. In his not-so-humble opinion, the writing was shitty, the plot was shittier, and the characters were the shittiest. It was hardly worth the effort. But it passed the time, and that's what mattered.

The door to the Cell Block was flung open violently and he immediately found himself on the defense. But when he looked over and saw his brother striding towards him, he eased up and grinned.

"Bustin' me outta here?"

Daryl ignored the sarcastic inquiry. In fact, he ignored his brother altogether. He stomped past him, over towards the box of supplies in the corner of the cell. Merle's smile dwindled and was replaced by a frown. He jumped up.

"Hey! I didn' tell you you could go snoopin' through my stuff! _Hey!_" He yelled gruffly, speeding over to catch up with his sibling.

"You got antibiotics in here?" Daryl asked, rooting through the cardboard box. Merle elbowed him away.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

"I need 'em."

Merle stiffened a bit.

"_Please_," Daryl begged. "I _need_ 'em."

"I'll only give 'em to you if you tell me whatcha need 'em for." Merle bargained, crouching down and retrieving a small bottle of antibiotics from the box.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Now come on, lil' brother. You can trus' me."

"_Fine_. It's Carol. Now give 'em up." Daryl demanded. His hand shot out to grab the medicine, but Merle held them the bottle up high, as if he were a schoolchild all over again, reveling in his little sibling's torment.

"_Now_ I'm interested!" He crowed. "Come on. Tell me wha's wrong, an' you can have 'em, no more question's asked."

"She's been shot, an' if I don't get 'em _now_, she's gonna die. An' if she dies, tha's on _you_."

Merle sighed. He'd asked for an explanation, and he'd been given one, so he begrudgingly granted the pills to his brother. Daryl gave a somewhat-grateful nod and turned swiftly on his heel to leave.

"Take care of 'er, now," Merle called after him. ""Cause I ain't gonna be so nice next time."

.:|:.

She could barely muster the strength to lift her head, but with gentle coaxing from Daryl, Carol managed to swallow the pills. Nothing was guaranteed, especially at the state of illness she'd reached, but Hershel had told them that if she survived the night, there was a chance she'd pull through. And no matter how much Rick or Glenn or even Maggie had insisted he get some rest, Daryl stayed by Carol's side the entire night. He didn't nod off once until just before the break of dawn, when he could suppress his exhaustion no longer.

When she awoke, there was subtle light dappling the sheets. Her stomach ached dully, but it was no longer anguishing. At first she wondered if she died; if what she was experiencing was the afterlife. But then she noticed Daryl beside her, slumbering soundly in a chair, their fingers still entwined. With every steady breath she took, the sour air tasted sweeter, and she found herself cherishing the blissful pain, because it meant she was alive.

She was _alive_.

After all, she'd promised him she would be.


End file.
